Enterprise: Fallen From Grace
by jtm1848
Summary: A non-canon adaptation of the Augments trilogy.  Finished.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

_**I.K.S. Ba'Sugh**_

_**Somewhere **_

_Space._

_The final frontier._

_Even in the deepest voids of unfathomable empty skies can one find the opalescent shimmer of phosphorescent dust, a gossamer pinprick miniature, which en masse forms a mystical ocean of angelic glow; with no beginning and no end, it waxes and wanes across the universe, but never quite vanishes. _

_Amid the jet-black stygian gloom of the darkest barrens, untouched by the subtle hints of stellar age, an echo of light emerges as one draws close, as though a candle across a vast sea. Here, as one slips into the depths of the midnight zone, immersed within the preternatural chill of incorporeal mist and the creep of necrosis, the echo begins to grow, casting about a solitary brilliance._

_The abyss of space, upon closer inspection, is not empty at all; and in these pockets, these long-forgotten reaches where no stars shine, one can find the sparkling wonder of wintry grace. For in these bodiless realms of somber cold reside vast seas of Achlysian ice, the unused reservoirs of ice and snow. Dewdrops and prisms, and crystals and mist, the frozen debris of eons long past; the aureolic glitter, the rarefied chill of ether, a veritable starfield of infinitesimal sublimity._

_Here and there, in unmeasured intervals of unexpressed time, the endless sea of crystalline light would be disturbed; the passage of a glacial cleft, perhaps, the solemn journey of a lone chunk of rock, collecting molecules of matter on its lonely journey. Empires would rise and fall, species would grow and thrive and drift away, and even the stars would live out a lifetime; the ocean outlived them all, unyielding, unchanging, eternal._

_Space._

_The infinite frontier._

_Not quite infinite, but essentially so; a single ray of light sent from one end of the universe would never quite reach the other—ever. And in that chasm, it would likely never hit a single speck of matter. It would witness the formation and collapse of galaxies, passing by far beyond the nearest black holes, never once twisted nor turned nor bent by the gravitational effects of those solitary bodies, themselves but mere stragglers lost amid the syncope of amaranthine sea._

_In other words, not the place for a Klingon warrior. Nach'um snarled fiercely, pounding the arm of his command chair with a heavy fist; but the well-built seat, designed to endure precisely such abuse, gave him no quarter. It infuriated the bored Klingon, the inability to impose his will upon even the most mundane of inanimate objects, but he held back a new growl and instead spat out a chunk of acidic phlegm, enjoying the sound of it sizzling atop the hot, metal deckplates._

_He fumed angrily, struggling to recall the disciplines of the mok'bara; the cleansing art would help clear his mind, help him master and channel his fury, as the Great Kahless had once taught. Klingon-hood was about struggle; but the true struggle was to command one's internal enemies was a higher calling, the struggle to harmonize passion and anger with honor and discipline._

_It helped little, and Nach'um cursed loudly, calling the wrath of the Black Fleet upon those who stood in his way. It had been a pointless mission from the start, but he was duty-bound to obey the commands of his liege lord; and no doubt, upon his return, he would be held responsible for the lack of spoils._

_It was a dead region of space. Over fifty light-years from the homeworld, far from the ill-defined boundaries of the Empire; the shipping lanes of the Rigelian corridor were but a phantom. These were desolate reaches, mired in the vast borderlands which dwarfed the RomuluSngan on one side and the Orions on another._

_But any qoH would recognize why, Nach'um fumed—there was nothing in the borderlands worth taking. But here he was, a loyal vassal of Tir'aH, joH'a of the House NuVagh—counting dust particles._

"_Commander!" K'tahk barked. "We have a contact!"_

_Nach'um snarled again, but this time with delight; it had been too long since his crew had seen combat. He weighed his options for a moment before rising from his chair, taking care to maintain command dignity even as he noted the ripple of blubber about his midsection. It has been too long, he knew. _

"_Alter course!" he ordered sharply, ignoring the confirmation from the helm attendant. The small bird-of-prey swiftly pivoted and dove forward, isolating a still-distant target ahead._

_Nach'um could only hope that they had found worthwhile prey._

**Earth**

"_Atten—HUT!"_ The booming voice of the honorary sergeant-at-arms was clear and strong, commanding a stringent respect amid the assorted guests and dignitaries. As it settled upon the assembled personages, the air of polite chatter slowed, coming to a quiet halt; none quite dared to incur the wrath of General Casey, the commandant of Starfleet's Marine Assault division.

Jonathan Archer, standing on the dais, could almost visualize the ripple as the crowded room fell silent. While not inordinately large, the reception hall was by no means small, holding upwards of five hundred people; and as he swept his eyes over the expectant faces, Archer realized, to some surprise, that he recognized most of them.

Starfleet officers comprised the bulk of the evening's ensemble; that much had been an unyielding requirement on the part of Admiral Forrest, Starfleet's Chief-of-Staff. But the high-wattage event was the must-attend banquet-of-the-week among the prominent citizens of Earth; even the Prime Minister of the United Earth Parliament was in attendance, albeit with a subdued presence.

Forrest stepped to the podium first. "Good evening, everyone," he began, adjusting the microphone as he spoke. It was an unnecessary affectation; but in a day of wireless pick-ups and acoustic engineering, the physical presence of a microphone still conveyed a certain gravitas for the speaker.

"We're pleased all of you could join us," the admiral continued, smiling at the sideways joke; no one would have dared miss. A soft current of laughter echoed back, indicating that the audience grasped the allusion. "It is our great honor and pleasure tonight to come together and recognize the service and devotion of our brethren."

Archer, a step behind and to the right of the admiral, gave a quick glance at the three officers lined up onstage: Malcolm Reed, Travis Mayweather, and Hoshi Sato, his comrades in duty and sacrifice. He felt a sense of pride, warring with a sense of sadness; Charles Tucker and Phlox were present as well, in the front row of guests, but the final member of his command crew was absent. Still reeling from the psychiatric trauma incurred in the Delphinic Expanse, T'Pol remained on Vulcan, under medical care.

And the posthumous commendations had required several grueling ceremonies.

"I am also pleased," Forrest continued, "to welcome Captain Jonathan Archer, commander of the Earth starship _Enterprise_."

Having nearly missed his cue, Archer whipped his head forward with a slight twinge, taking a half step forward. A chorus of applause sounded from the audience, echoing within the artfully-designed curvature of the arching ceiling above. He cringed slightly as the wave of attention and lights poured over him; in the months following their return, he had grown quite weary of the accolades.

Under the baleful stare of General Casey, the cheering drew to a stuttering halt as the reception hall fell silent once again.

"Attention to orders!" Forrest called out sharply. The room stiffened with an audible snap. "The Prime Minister of the Unified Earth Parliament, acting upon the recommendation of the Chief-of-Staff of Starfleet Command, and having placed special trust and confidence in the loyalty, integrity, and abilities of Lieutenant Malcolm Edward Reed; Ensign Travis Eugene Mayweather; and Ensign Hoshi Nakahara Sato—"

_Eugene?_ Archer thought inwardly.

"And in recognition of their service, above and beyond the call of duty," Forrest continued, his stern voice cracking slightly with a hint of esteem, "the Prime Minister has hereby issued the following the orders, effective this, the eleventh day of May, two thousand one hundred and fifty-four."

Allowing the final echoes to reverberate through the hall, Forrest now turned to the three officers; and Archer, taking his cue, stepped up to face Malcolm.

"Lieutenant Malcolm Edward Reed," Forrest proclaimed firmly, "you are hereby promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander, with all of the rights and privileges thereto!"

The audience broke into applause as Archer reached up to Malcolm's chest, and palming an emblem, pinned the rank insignia to Malcolm's uniform. "Congratulations, Malcolm," the captain whispered softly, feeling inordinately moved; and Malcolm replied with a reserved nod, visible only to Archer.

"Ensign Travis Eugene Mayweather," Forrest proclaimed next, as Archer obediently shifted to the next officer. "You are hereby promoted to the rank of Lieutenant, with all of the rights and privileges thereto!"

As Archer pinned on the insignia, Travis' stern face broke into a broad grin, and the captain did not resist. "Congratulations, Travis," he murmured, his face split open as well.

"And Ensign Hoshi Nakahara Sato!" Forrest announced, gently prodding Archer along. "You are hereby promoted to the rank of Lieutenant, with all of the rights and privileges thereto!"

Try as he might, Archer felt as though this one, this promotion, meant the most. "Congratulations, Hoshi," he whispered. The sense of disbelief and wonder on Hoshi's face swept away the last thoughts of doubt in the captain's mind.

_**I.K.S. Ba'Sugh**_

_**Somewhere **_

_Bregit lung._

_Leg of targ._

_Rokeg blood pie, still warm._

_Gagh: lots of gagh, still alive._

_Those were things to whet a warrior's appetite._

_The chase was short; too short, too easy. Nach'um snarled again in frustration as the Ba'Sugh overtook their prey, shooting past before coming about in a slow, languid arc. It was a simple maneuver, designed to strike terror in the still-beating hearts of their enemies._

_However, Nach'um observed morosely, it was completely unnecessary._

_The ship appearing on the viewscreen was no foe at all, not even a challenge to stoke the lust of the chase. Scarcely half their size and little more than a derelict, its hull streaked brown and gray, the crude shell battered and beaten, it was barely suitable for training a child._

"_Sir! No armaments!" K'tahk reported sharply, his voice bitten with its own dissatisfaction. The younger warrior felt the absence of battle more keenly. "Its systems are failing!"_

_Nach'um barely moved as he snapped back. "Anything alive?"_

"_Two lifeforms," K'tahk replied a moment later, not quite masking the surprise in his own voice. It didn't seem quite possible for anything to survive within the wrecked hulk._

"_Bah!" Nach'um growled angrily, pounding his fist in frustration. The arm of his chair cracked slightly, giving the captain an inordinate sense of satisfaction. But what could he do about their target? It wasn't honorable to destroy something that could not fight back. "Order them to heave to!" he commanded, gritting his teeth in fulmination. "Send a squad to the docking port!"_

" '_oH ghaH vaj!" Several guttural sounds redounded across the bridge as warriors answered the command, but Nach'um paid them little heed; it was K'tahk's responsibility to ensure that the crew obeyed the captain's commands. It was Nach'um's responsibility to make sure those commands were worthwhile._

_Nach'um continued to watch, glumly, as the Ba'Sugh drifted into docking position above the forlorn shuttle. Perhaps, he mused, they would find some cargo hidden aboard, something to justify the hassle._

_But then again, he brooded, sometimes a wreck is just a wreck._

**Earth**

Jonathan Archer leaned forward on the railings, appreciating the persistent ocean spray gusting across San Francisco Bay. It was cold, it was wet, it stung a little against uncovered skin; but it also drove the dignitaries away, giving the captain a respite from the crowded, overheated reception hall.

Night had fallen across the Bay, but from his vantage point on Alameda Point, the skyline of the city was brilliantly lit; soaring buildings scratching the low-hanging clouds, their lights reflected amid the nimbo-stratus strands and the rippling surface of the harbor waters. It wasn't dark, not in the least; _and rarely was, _Archer knew, recognizing the irony of locating Starfleet Headquarters in a city where you couldn't easily see the stars.

But the city was _alive _and vibrant; the region around the Bay and the Golden Gate had, as the decades passed, become the focal point of the Unified Earth, always looking onward and upward in trajectory. Starfleet Command was here, as was Parliament; the parliamentary ministries were based in the area, and the diplomatic district was just to the south, on Bay Farm Island. Several leading universities ringed the harbor, and the rebuilt Smithsonian complex filled an entire portion of Berkeley.

"Evening, Jonathan." The words flowed, leisurely, from Admiral Forrest.

Lost in thought, Archer jumped slightly at the voice. "Good evening, Admiral," he replied automatically.

"Mind if I join you?" Forrest's easy smile indicated that acquiescence was not required.

"No, sir," Archer replied unhurriedly, gesturing towards the railing. "As long as you promise not to ask me any questions about the Expanse."

"I'm holding you to the same," Forrest replied, giving a light-hearted grunt. "It's a little crazy, isn't it?"

"It's been three months," Archer observed, giving some voice to his weariness. _Three months in front of cameras, in front of journalists asking the same questions, at countless ribbon-cutting ceremonies, several speeches a week…_he had finally rigged his communicator to block incoming calls from Starfleet's press secretary. "Phlox would love it, but…" Archer trailed off, unwilling to complete the thought.

"I know," Forrest answered tersely, his own displeasure clear. "There was another attack yesterday."

"The cab driver?" Archer bit his lower lip, turning it white. The Tellarite was projected to recover in due time, largely because his massive girth had foiled the knife attack.

Now shivering in the face of the cold spray, the two men stood in silence for an extended moment, watching the movement of lights; from far off to their right, where the new Bay Bridge began in Oakland, to its terminus just past the Embarcado, a constant wave flowed in both directions. It was still early in the night, but the stream of traffic would let up only slightly before the morning hours.

"Anything about T'Pol?" Archer asked at last, turning his head slightly to the side.

Forrest turned as well, giving the two men a bubble of space protected from the wind. "I spoke with Ambassador Soval earlier today," he replied slowly. His hesitation projected the lack of good news.

"What is it?" Archer pressed after a moment, steeling himself for a punch to the gut.

"The Vulcan High Command is charging her with being absent without leave." Forrest's voice was curt as he tried to soften the impact. "She's not allowed to leave Vulcan, pending disposition."

"I see." Archer let the words hang in the air.

"You knew this was coming, Jon," Forrest replied gently. "She disobeyed their orders when she followed you into the Expanse. And Vulcans—" he winced slightly with remembered pain. "They are fastidious about the chain of authority."

It was—had to be—his imagination, but it seemed to Archer as though the cloud cover had grown a shade darker. "Is she still—"

"She's still in medical care," Forrest finished. "It's not the worst circumstances for her, Jonathan. She may be confined to Vulcan…but that's where she needs to be anyway. The neuro-psychiatrists aren't sure if she'll ever be functionally able to return to duty."

_**I.K.S. Ba'Sugh**_

_**Somewhere **_

_It was even easier than docking with a true derelict._

_As the bird-of-prey settled over its target, the beaten shuttle made no attempt to escape; it hung, still and silent, in the hardness of space as the final meters of separation slowly disappeared. A nondescript bang indicated that the two vessels had made physical contact; and moments later, the airlock shaft fastened on, beginning its binge-and-purge cycle._

_K'tahk clicked the handle of his d'k'tahg blade, opening and closing it repeatedly as he strove to channel his irritation and frustration. When combat beckoned, these long seconds of wait only heightened his battle senses, preparing him for the fast, furious onslaught as he carved his way through foe and prey. But now…the wait served only to accent the powerlessness he felt, the discomfiture of involuntary inaction, the striving of his passions against the trained barrier of inhibition._

_At last, the airlock door opened, and K'tahk let loose a growl of relief; the prolonged seconds grated upon his nerves in unimagined ways. Oddly enough, the two inhabitants of the target vessel were already crossing the threshold, willingly handing themselves over as they cleared the vestibule and entered the engineering compartment._

_K'tahk eyed the two beings suspiciously. They were either a threat, or he was so thirsty for battle that he was imagining it, and the latter was more likely. They were both…Earthers, he identified promptly, although they didn't quite match the description of their race; they were taller, both coming up to his chest, and their skin wasn't actually pink._

_Both possessed lean faces and chiseled features, evidence of an unpampered life. Their manes were both nearly Klingon; long and bedraggled, one almost jet black and the other a shade of brown. Tattered, tight-fitting shirts revealed well-built torsos, muscular and trim. Well-fed, K'tahk decided, but accustomed to a hard lifestyle._

"_Move!" he barked at the duo, pointing into the ship with the tip of his knife. Two of his warriors were sliding into escort positions behind the Earthers, and the third moved to one side, opening a walking path through the cramped compartment. "Move!" K'tahk barked again, irritated by their slowness._

_The two Earthers glanced at each other, as though experiencing a moment of tova'Daq: a moment of battlefield clarity between two warriors. It made K'tahk's heart beat a little harder: did these Earthers intend to put up a fight?_

_The first Earther, the taller of the pair, slowly turned about to face the guard behind him, and the Klingon ran out of patience; the barrel of a disruptor rifle punched the Earther in the gut with enough force to stagger most beings. "Walk, human!" the guard bellowed, using his height to tower over the victim._

_K'tahk barely saw the movement._

_With stunning speed, the two Earthers struck._

_The first, the taller Earther, lashed out with a lightning-fast round kick, striking the unsuspecting guard in the center of the chest. The impact drove the Klingon from his feet, tossing him backward into the airlock before hitting the deck with bone-rattling force. Without a pause, the Earther continued his movement, intercepting the swinging arc of a second disruptor rifle with his hands. A precision twist ripped the weapon away from the guard and brought it about in an arc, crashing into the side of the Klingon's head._

_K'tahk bared his teeth with delight as his battle senses came alive, accelerating his perceptions and instincts to keep pace with these freakishly-fast Earthers. It was never wise to assault a bored Klingon, and he was ready to—_

_K'tahk barely felt the jolt as his body crashed to the deck, his legs flying out before him. Instead, rage tore through his body, and he was on his feet as the second Earther—the one who had undercut him—rolled past the guard of the remaining warrior, delivering a precision blow to the warrior's throat; the stricken Klingon staggered backwards, gasping for air as he scratched at his smashed larynx._

_Bringing his d'k'tahg up into attack posture, K'tahk charged at the Earther, bellowing a battle-cry through his—he heard the cracking of his bones as he smashed into a bulkhead, unbelievable force encountering unmovable object, enough to overcome even the hardened build of a Klingon. Pink blood flowed before his eyes as he saw the Earther come about, finishing the roundhouse kick that had so violently struck the warrior._

_Somewhere in the background, the first guard was now staggering forward from the airlock, his balance shaky but his rage intact; he lashed out fiercely with a fist, but the first Earther dodged the blow. With a swift pirouette past the teetering Klingon, the Earther leapt on the warrior's back and contracted his own torso with sufficient force to toss the heavy warrior backward in a bicycle-kick motion. The guard crashed into a bulkhead headfirst and slumped against it, held up only by a handful of unsevered tendons in his neck._

_That left K'tahk, who staggered across the compartment, shaking his head to clear the viscera swimming in his eyes as he lashed out, randomly, with his knife. Within a moment, he felt a rending pain tear through his gut, followed by acute agony as the twin side-blades of his own knife opened, and the world went from pink to red to violet before fading into nothingness._

_Feeling the death throes of the last Klingon, the second Earther didn't bother withdrawing the knife he had driven into the being. Although he would retrieve it later, he had no need for the blade at the moment. Instead, the humans each picked up a disruptor rifle, and made their way up the corridor._

**Earth**

"There's something else I thought you might be interested in," Forrest said slowly, after waiting for a gust of wind to howl past them. As it shrieked on by, the admiral raised a hand to wipe the excess spray from his face. "We're sending the _Enterprise _back out."

Archer turned about in startled alarm, gritting his teeth against sudden ire. "With all due respect, Admiral, the repairs aren't nearly complete! We need at least another three weeks—"

"Trust me, Jonathan, I know the repair status," Forrest replied. His own acerbic irritation cut into Archer. "But the _Enterprise _is closer to launch than the _Columbia_."

"Maybe," Archer allowed, his thoughts running furiously. "But I need time to assemble a crew."

Forrest cracked a wry smile. "You're off the hook, Jon. Captain Hernandez has a fully trained crew, ready to go. It'll only be temporary."

The cold harbor air was little compared to the rising temperature of Archer's ire. "She's my ship, Admiral," he replied tightly. "If the _Enterprise _is going out, then I'm taking her."

Forrest paused a moment, watching the city lights ripple over the Bay waters. "You said it yourself, Captain," he replied quietly. "Your first officer—who doubles as your science officer—isn't even able to leave Vulcan. Your second officer—who doubles as your chief engineer—is still up before a hearing committee, and no one there can decide whether to court-martial him or promote him. Your weapons officer and helmsman barely escaped civilian charges for knocking out a loud-mouthed idiot. Half of your registered crew hasn't been cleared by Medical to return to duty. Need I go on?"

"To be fair, Admiral…" Archer spat out an unwelcome mouthful of salt water. "_You_ put Malcolm and Travis up for their promotions."

Forrest's eye began to twinkle. "It seemed the least I could for them," he answered.

The captain's ire evaporated into a broad chuckle. "I never figured you for a sly one, sir."

"My office, first thing in the morning." The twinkle vanished behind a somber expression. "I want my best people on this one, Captain, and that's still you."

_**I.K.S. Ba'Sugh**_

_**Somewhere **_

_The commotion was…odd._

"_Bah!" Nach'um snarled again, pushing himself upward from the command chair; his lips curled for a moment as one foot nearly buckled beneath him, the ankle still recovering from a sparring mishap three days earlier. There was a time…_

"_Bah!" Nach'um snarled again, banishing the thoughts of his youth from his mind. The youthful warrior he had once been would never have tolerated such banal work; the aging captain he now was had to sort out building bedlam._

_Echoing up the neck of the ship, the racket was clearly heard on the bridge; peeking his ears, Nach'um took a moment to digest it, teasing out the different sounds of melee and clattering bulkheads, the oomphs of deflated torsos, the unmistakable crunch of bones. Something was clearly going wrong, but for the moment, Nach'um cared little: there was a battle taking place, and now his lips curled in delight._

_Later, he would punish the guards for their incompetence._

_Stepping eagerly now, Nach'um barely cleared the angled control consoles behind his own post before the rear doors clanged open, giving the Klingon captain pause in mid-step; two Earthers stood framed in the threshold, bearing Klingon disruptor rifles. _

_A wave of rage roared through Nach'um's body as his battle senses came alive, heightening his speed and turning to his instincts for command. The distance between him and the Earthers was less than the length of one man, and he charged forward with a bulrush, crossing the gap before the intruders could ready their weapons—_

_Nach'um hit the deckplates between the two Earthers, every nerve in his body crying with eternal pain, and the world turned mercifully black._

**Earth**

It was, some might say, an anomaly; others would blame it on the odds, and still others would point out that weather patterns are never truly static.

_Whichever way you look at it,_ Archer reflected, taking in the view beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, _it's sunny in San Francisco._

The northern tip of the southern promontory of the twin peninsulas that flank the Bay, the Presidio of San Francisco was an old, converted naval base, dating back to the days when the first Spanish forts were built on the Golden Gate. In the years since, through wars and interim peace, the Presidio remained; serving as a fortress on the Bay, as a naval transshipment point, as the base of operations during the Great Fire of 1906, as a tourist attraction and—at one point—a prison, and perhaps most famously as a refugee camp during the Final World War, it had been gifted to Starfleet some twenty years before.

_And the view is amazing,_ Archer noted, watching the white dots that populated the blue waters of the Bay. The chief-of-staff's office was located, quite precisely, on the bluffs overlooking Marine Drive, with a line-of-sight angling northeast and into the heart of the Bay; framing one side of the vista were the towering struts of the Golden Gate Bridge, and on the other the sprawling docks of the Marina District.

Archer stifled a sigh as the windows grew smoky and opaque.

"Have a seat, gentlemen." Forrest's tone was somewhere between a suggestion and a command as he waved Archer and Reed to the utilitarian seats before the admiral's desk. "I don't think either of you know our guest," he added, giving a nod towards the fourth occupant of the room. "This Alan Spearson, of the Intelligence Division of the Foreign Ministry."

Archer extended a polite handshake as he sat down, settling into the rigid chair. Spearson was an older man; thinning hair combed back with a distinct widow's peak, more pepper than coal, and more salt than pepper. His skin was a soft brown, bespeaking mixed ancestry, and he wore an impeccably-tailored suit.

"It's our pleasure to be here, sir," Archer replied guardedly, withholding genuine judgment until he learned the purpose of their meeting. If it was, say, to discuss a First Contact opportunity, then he was truly pleased; but whereas a mission summons had once always excited the captain, experience had tempered the enthusiasm.

"Very well." Forrest cleared his throat. "May I safely assume that the two of you are familiar with the Chrysalis Project?" he asked. Forrest leaned across his desk, hands clasped before him.

"I think so, sir," Malcolm replied, giving a nod. "Isn't that the one which gave rise to Khan Singh?"

"That's correct," Forrest affirmed. "Around the turn of the twenty-first century, the Chrysalis Project tried to use genetic resequencing to jumpstart a 'master' human race."

"They didn't get very far," Archer commented, joining the discussion. "Their offspring wiped each other out, as I recall."

Spearson leaned inward as well. "And how many of these super-genetic offspring were there?" he asked. His voice was gravelly, as if aged and weary.

Malcolm closed one eye as he thought. "I want to say a hundred sixty, sir."

"You're right on, Commander," Spearson confirmed. "But those did not account for all of the viable fetuses."

"I remember something about that," Archer replied slowly. His mind clouded momentarily as he sought distant recollections in his memory. "It was one of the last areas of cooperation before the War, wasn't it? I mean, the effort to secure the remaining fetuses."

"Yes, Captain," Spearson answered, and he glanced about quickly, as if concerned about eavesdroppers. "But no disposition for them was ever released."

"Of course." A grade-school history lesson was clearing up in Archer's mind. "No one could agree. Do you terminate the fetuses? Bring them to term, and then incarcerate the children? Bring them to term, and let them go?"

"I think I saw a file on them once," Malcolm chipped in, choosing his words carefully. "Weren't they put into a secured storage facility in the interim."

"What does this have to do with us, Admiral?" Archer prodded along; the history lesson was nice…but what did it have to do with their mission?

Spearson and Forrest exchanged a look. "The V'Shar passed along some information to us," Spearson admitted finally, referring to the Vulcan intelligence bureau. "Over the past month or so, they've collected scattered reports of a small crew of humans pirating ships along the Rigelian Corridor."

Tapping several commands into the desk's control panel, Forrest called up a three-dimensional starmap. "The reported attacks have taken place in this region," he added, highlighting a bubble of roughly five cubic light-years; almost entirely within sector zero-one-one, with the Orion Hegemony on one side and the Rigelian Corridor on the other, it encompassed the bright stars of Pollux, Sigma Ceti, and Tellun.

"That's no surprise," Malcolm observed. His voice harbored a degree of suspicion. "Orion pirates have operated along there for—well, for as long as we know," he added wryly. "Attack the shipping in the Corridor, and escape across the Orion border."

"These attacks have been a little different." Forrest's voice was grim. "They've allegedly been carried out by a crew of humans."

Archer sat back, stunned, while Malcolm followed along the thread. "I'm still not sure why you're attaching such importance to these pirates, sir," he added, carefully voicing his suspicion. "There are—still—any number of wildcat humans out there."

"This particular band tried to hijack a Vulcan freighter," Spearson countered. "The Vulcans held off the pirates—at considerable cost, I'm told. However, in the process, they came by some organic samples from the attackers."

Cold realization swept over Malcolm's face. "They were Augments," he whispered.

Archer darted a look at his tactical officer. "Am I the only person here who doesn't know something?" he queried, eyes darting back to Spearson and Forrest.

"Apparently so, Captain," Forrest replied, giving Malcolm a hard look. "I'm curious as to how _you _know, Commander Reed."

"I'm sure the Commander is sworn to secrecy," Spearson grunted nonchalantly as he turned towards Archer. "And to answer your other question, Captain: over the years, several of the Augment fetuses have…gone missing."


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

**Earth**

Muttering to himself with unintelligible syllables, the prisoner in cell A-14 scribbled out the last line he had hastily written. It was no good; it was flawed in nearly invisible ways, but the answer was clear to him, the formulas flowing through him with unusual clarity. He was not a madman, _nowhere close, _he knew. Although few people could hope to understand the ragged hieroglyphics before him, those who could begin to decipher dashed lines and dots immediately identified the work of a genius.

_So naturally, I'm a convict, _the prisoner thought to himself, allowing a small portion of his racing mind to stray on oft-traveled roads. According to the prosecutor, the prisoner was one of the most dangerous people alive, even more dangerous than the assorted murderers who were only slowly disappearing from Earth society, and the irony was not lost on the prisoner; he had never taken any lives, never harmed another being, yet _he _was the worst of them all, guilty of a far worse crime: _giving _life.

It wasn't a hard life, if one could consider incarceration easy. Although he wore shackles on his wrists and ankles, they could be separated, allowing him to move his arms and legs freely; and the food wasn't so bad, if one didn't have an appetite. And with his vaunted designation—a class-A convict—the prisoner had the wing almost entirely to himself, sharing it only with the ever-present guards who watched him constantly through the duranium bars.

During his confinement, the prisoner already had completed the work of several lifetimes. Leafs of paper, stacks of paper, entire reams of paper populated his cell, all covered with the same mosaic of handwritten notes, formulae, and indecipherable scrawls; but he had little hope that they would ever be used to relieve suffering, save lives, and uplift humanity. His work was tainted, tainted with the wrongdoings of others who had abused such knowledge to play pitiful games of power.

The prisoner knew precisely how long he had been in prison; even without a calendar, his mind could track the days, and the hours of the days. He had been in this facility for nine years, two months, and eleven days; his capture was four months and six days before that.

He had aged during those years, faster than a person should; but incarceration was like that. His once-black hair was now white, possessing only a few flecks of silver; his skin had turned pale, and a once-strong build was now trim. Dressed in regulation drab-gray overalls, he appeared in many ways like any other scientist, having spent too many years in a laboratory; his best distinguishing feature was a long nose, coming to a sharp point at the front of his face.

**126 Ceti**

_The tunnels stank of rotten eggs._

_But that was the price of living in a place where no one would look._

_The central star was itself a meaningless entity in the barrens of space. _

_At one point, many generations in the past, it may have mattered; in the vivacity of its youth, when the stellar furnace consumed illimitable quantities of hydrogen, pumping out enough heat and warmth to fuel the gradual aggregation of life. Civilizations may have risen and fallen, empires passing by in twinkles of time, fates altered and futures determined._

_Conversely, it may never have mattered._

_Now, in the tapering twilight of its existence, the star no longer burned with the furious might of its brethren. Never a large entity, as it slowly compressed inward upon itself, its mass insufficient to trigger the runaway fusion of a red giant, the thermonuclear forge died a wheezing, asthmatic death._

_Now, only a small ball of cosmic mass remained—scarcely larger than the planet Earth, balanced between the inward pull of gravity and the outward push of electron degeneracy, the once-star radiated its remaining heat into the coldness of space. As more generations passed, the white dwarf remnant would slowly cool and dim, becoming little more than a cold, dark mass._

_On Starfleet charts, the star was unimaginatively labeled as 126 Ceti._

_Around the fifth planet, itself a minor gaseous ball, orbited a loose collection of shattered rocks. They were not native to the system; at some point, far in the distant past, a heavy asteroid of remote origins screamed into the system. Striking the gas planet, the dense rock shattered into pieces; and as eons went on, the fragments settled into standard orbits._

_The new moons were, in fact, completely inhospitable to most forms of life._

_Amid the craggy ridges and ravines slashing the surface of each rock glowed greenish hellfires from below. Radioactive cores emitted great quantities of heat, causing deep reservoirs of copper sulfate to burn as endless piles; and old-fashioned water, transiting upward and downward from steam to ice and back again, added to the sickly glow and burning stench._

_In the tunnels and warrens slicing through the rock, some natural and others chiseled and hewn by calloused hand, they had dug out an existence of sorts during the years of their second exile. It was not easy; only their genetic modifications allowed the exiles to survive at all in such a caustic place. But it provided safety, the sort of safety borne in anonymity and absurdity._

_Ruâx growled to himself as he moved swiftly through the dark passageways, unerring with his direction. The burrows were not pitch black; some glow came through the rocks, casting a particular greenish hue about the entire complex, and various banks of machinery added multi-spectrum light of their own. But predominantly, it was altered genetics that allowed Ruâx to move so comfortably in the dimness; his eyes, nearly glowing, had long since been adapted for low-light vision._

_It was their own miniature city of Dis._

**Earth**

Scarcely moving his eyes, the prisoner managed to send a glare of displeasure at the unseen voice of the intercom. "You have a visitor," it announced abruptly, tones flattened by machinery.

"I'm busy," the prisoner answered, his voice lacking the expected sounds of aggravation. Instead, he spoke with a sarcastic lilt, in almost sing-song manner.

"Stand up, Doctor," the intercom demanded, growing forceful in quick succession.

Closing his eyes for a moment, the prisoner muttered again, scrawling out a few last hasty notes on the paper before him. Most prisoners enjoyed visitors; anything to break up the monotony of countless identical days, stretching across months and years. But for the doctor in cell A-14, it was an unwanted distraction, threatening to spoil the delicate diagrams rearranging themselves in his mind.

_But some things are inevitable, _he reminded himself, and throwing down his pencil, the prisoner turned and stood. In the cramped confines of the cell, he raised his arms; and with a metallic clink, the bracelets on each wrist pulled together with magnetic lock, forming a pair of restraints. The prisoner swallowed back a curse; there was little need to cuff him, in the presence of several guards.

Its only real purpose was to humiliate him.

**126 Ceti**

_Raâkîn growled softly to himself as he massaged his temples, trying to ease the building pain of blood vessels pounding and throbbing behind them. It had not been an easy day; but then, it never was, here in the brutal exile of the Afflicted._

_For ten years now, since their desperate flight from the world of their childhood, Raâkîn had led the dismal band of wretches, most of whom were only now exiting the biological era of their teens. There was only one blessing, he knew; his leadership was unchallenged, ordained upon him by their father, who knew the way of all things. The old man's guidance still shone over his chosen children, a vestige of illumination amid the nightfall of their lives; and perhaps, one day, they would be reunited with him._

_But not today, Raâkîn silently reminded himself, willing his blood pressure downward in futile endeavor. The throbbing continued, unsought and undesired, threatening a spasmodic twitch behind his eye. Today was the first day of the rest of their lives, stuck in a forsaken hellhole; and here he was, the leader of a great race, refereeing a dispute over the hydroponic beet crop._

_Sitting in a makeshift chair, welded together from scraps of bulkhead and conduit, Raâkîn's piercing glare was amplified by the thunder within it. He was, even by the standards of the Afflicted, physically imposing; tall in stature, broad in chest, a tapered waist and legs resembling those of the race of old. His muscles were sharp and well-defined, without a trace of paunch, the whole system undergirded by a network of enhanced respiratory and circulatory systems._

_Barely listening to the debate before him, Raâkîn nonetheless heard and logged every word in the eidetic recall of enriched neurons; subprocesses in his mind charted the arguments, weighing the points and counterpoints against one another. A greater portion was devoted to cracking the opacity, to determining the motivations and dissensions underlying the overwrought fracas. _

_But mostly, his mind was devoted to controlling the agony building within it, the looming presence of hyper-misery. _

_Thus it was with relief and dread that Raâkîn's ears registered the trotting clank of boots upon metal, moments before __Ruâx appeared in the open doorway of the chamber. A pointed glare from __Raâkîn silenced the bickering foes before him. "What is it, __Ruâx?" he demanded of the newcomer, his voice tired but hopeful. Whatever it was, it promised to be more interesting than beets._

"_Maâlîk and Câîm have returned," the other exile answered. "You're not going to like this."_

**Gamma Deuteron****Ceti**

The bruising beats of booming bass reverberated upon the plasma window, adding the slightest flicker of violet shading to the otherwise-translucent barrier as the now-muted sound dropped to a low thrumming rhythm. Lights began to flash in the darkness beyond, scintillating flares of intensified color diffracted within hanging clouds of smoke, appearing and disappearing in less than the blink of an eye; from olive to pine to emerald, they tantalized the mind with the scarcest hints of what lay within.

Then the main frames kicked in, sending the strobes into overdrive as they followed the pounding tempo of the alien machines, soaring and spiraling with surging palpitation; and the undulation of bodies, throbbing and thrashing together, following with glowing-eyed delirium.

Then everything ceased; and for a moment, everything fell dark within the heavy odors of heated air and unwashed bodies. Only a single whistle sounded, once, then twice, and it began to oscillate, upward and downward; and as the quivering assibilation grew in strength, great green-hued plasma arcs leapt upward, lighting up three cages dangling from the unseen ceiling.

And the beat resumed, its tempo even faster before, as the three dancers began to writhe in serpentine fashion, their sinewy curves moving in unimagined manners; gossamer silk hung upon them from a thread, threatening to fall away completely from glowing-green skin. Diaphoretic fragrances wafted across the moist air, charged with steamy sultriness.

And from behind the plasma window, in his vantage point overlooking the floor below, Vatis'Kish was immune. It had as much to do with evolution as it did the protective barrier; for every time that evolution increased the potency of the pheromones of Orion women, natural selection followed by increasing the resistance of Orion men.

_And everyone else, _Vatis'Kish reflected as he watched the growing bacchanalia with a cautious eye, _is out of luck. _Few people, if any, stood a chance against the provocative allure of his dancers.

_Not that many even try,_ he noted, trying to identify the various alien races represented by the refuse below. _Who attends this debauchery with the intention of __not__ enjoying themselves?_ Those who were not interested—the deviants who were unwilling to indulge their sensual desires, even after a lengthy haul in the desolation of interstellar space—were carefully directed to other portions of his sprawling establishment.

And those of discerning taste enjoyed special hospitality.

"Boss." The raspy voice behind Vatis'Kish barely disturbed the meaty Orion, but he stood up anyway, lifting his bulk from the low-lying couch. Truth be told, he had little interest in the carousing; but it was a business investment, and he was obligated to perform due diligence.

"What is it, Ryna?" Vatis'Kish asked tiredly, feeling the unwanted throb behind his eyes as he turned to face the newcomer. He dwarfed the other man; a Zakdorn—one of the subject peoples of the Hegemony, itself a _de facto _wing of the Syndicate—his business manager was of not even of height.

What Ryna lacked in height, he also lacked in appearance; short and stout, his face was covered in baggy skin and dangling ripples, some of which quivered when he spoke. His voice was high-pitched and nasally, and his hair constantly oozed a gelatinous substance.

But he was a brilliant business manager.

"There's a Rigelian asking to see you," Ryna answered, his voice squeaking as if in mock outrage. "Introduced himself as 'Rudo Oni.'"

"Bring him in," Vatis'Kish growled. It was not normally so easy to gain access to the Orion boss; but the codename belonged to a trusted agent.

Nonetheless, his Orion bodyguards shifted into protective positions.

**Earth**

The transparent doors of the holding cell gave an audible hum as they slid open before the prisoner, granting him ingress to the sterile, pastel-coated room beyond; but the prisoner paused in the threshold, giving a nonchalant air of studied indifference, requiring a gentle nudge from behind to send him through.

He wasn't expecting any guest in particular; but definitely not this one.

"Jonathan Archer," the prisoner drawled, revealing only a slight hint of the curiosity he felt. "Of course I recognize you, Captain; you're quiet famous, after all. Saving Earth, and all that." He began to pace slowly, circling around the newcomer. "So what brings _you _here? No, no, let me guess," he added quickly, raising his cuffed hands and waggling a finger at the Starfleet captain. "Are they naming the prison after you?"

"I need to ask you a few questions, Dr. Soong," Archer replied tersely, his clipped words matching his tense body.

"Indeed." Arik Soong gestured vaguely with his hands. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid that I just don't have the time," he added, musingly. "I'm in the middle of some rather important work."

"It won't take long," Archer answered tightly.

Soong _harrumphed _with disdain. "Time means different things, Captain, depending on your vantage point."

"I think you'll find this to be worth it."

"Indeed," Soong replied again. "That's quite a promise, Captain. But then…I suppose it's not every day that one gets to speak with the man who 'saved the planet.'" The last words received quoting gestures in the air. "Please, have a seat," he added, indicating a collapsible plasticine chairs; the room's entire contents consisted of two such seats. "I'm afraid I'm not allowed anything more…cordial."

The unusual choice of wording hung heavy for a moment.

Soong returned to his chair and sat down, but turned to face the captain. "Well, I suppose it's not every day one gets to speak with the man who 'saved the planet'," the doctor said, adding gestures for the last phrase. While Soong strongly disliked being interrupted from his work, the air of conviviality in his voice betrayed his curiosity. "Please," he said, gesturing with both arms for Archer to enter the cell. The captain stepped through the threshold. "I apologize for the clutter," Soong said with a half-smile. His voice modulated into a mocking tone. "I'm not allowed 'traditional recording devices'."

Archer nodded at the security guard, who closed the door and stepped out of sight. The conversation was only for the ears of the two men in the cell.

Archer returned Soong's jab. "You programmed a PADD to unlock every security door in the building," he reminded the doctor with a smirk. Following that incident, Soong had been restricted to pencil and paper.

Soong's face took on a look of fond reminiscence. "I was particularly proud of that," he said with no trace of sarcasm. "I made it all the way to Sausalito." He returned his gaze to Archer, and the moment of unmasked honesty vanished. "On the rare occasion I get stuck on a problem, I find a vigorous escape attempt helps to… 'clear the head'," Soong said with the old, faint mocking tone.

Archer looked around at the cell, taking in the papered walls, and stepped over to a foot-high pile of papers. "Go ahead," Soong told Archer, indicating for the captain to take a look. "They're DNA sequences. That one is for a modification of the human T-cell. It would render Sharat Syndrome a thing of the past." Soong spoke with a combination of professorial pride and resignation.

Archer slowly stepped around the room, taking in the fine, scribbled print and detailed sketches. "That one increases the visual spectrum by five percent," Soong told the captain, pointing at another sheet of paper. Archer stepped closer to take a look. "Of course, none of this will ever be tested." _My life's work. _"They clear out my room every few months. I'm told it all gets… 'vaporized'." Soong punctuated the last word with a gesture of explosion. _They don't even take a look at it._

Archer turned back to Soong, and spoke with an air of smugness. "Why invest so much time and energy on things no one will ever use?" he asked the doctor.

Soong's voice took on a sharp bite. "How can a supposedly intelligent species reject technology that would enhance ability? Relieve suffering?" _The advances I'm making could revolutionize medicine. Cure a hundred diseases, fix a thousand defects._

Archer kept up the verbal joust. "Genetic engineering has caused a lot of suffering."

"So did splitting the atom," Soong responded with a jabbing inflection. "Yet the first ships to colonize the solar system were nuclear-powered." _And that doesn't even begin to address the _Phoenix. The _Phoenix_, Zephram Cochrane's ship, the first to travel at warp speed, the first to make contact with extraterrestrial life, the ship that arguably ushered in a dawning age of global peace and cooperation—was built from an intercontinental nuclear missile.

Soong's curiosity was rapidly vanishing, and he was ready to get rid of his guest. "But you're not here to discuss that," he said, referencing the philosophical questions of genetic engineering.

**126 Ceti**

_You're right, __Raâkîn thought as he looked upward. I don't like this._

_Hovering above, in make-shift parking over a pool of green gases, was a Klingon bird-of-prey; D4-variant, his mind noted autonomously, as his minds traced the unmistakable form. The bulbous nose, a narrow neck, the hunchback main section, and two angled wings tapering downward to the primary disrupter banks…it wasn't the cutting edge of the Klingon arsenal, but in the right hands it was a lethal instrument._

_And it was a red flag. _

_The Orion Syndicate—and, to a lesser extent, the Rigelian Trade Commission—had largely ignored the band of exiles. Their acts of piracy were few and far between, momentary and modest in nature. Sure, there was a sense of theory design behind it; they were Augments, after all, and not common thugs, hitting the ordinary traveler over the head and stealing his means to live._

_But their relative anonymity was animated by a sense of survival._

_A single Orion marauder could wipe out their entire colony, expunging the exiles from existence. Or a pair of Rigelian corvettes…or a single frigate. Or any number of any species, seeking revenge for the abduction of their shipping. Neither of the power brokers would see the need to intervene._

_Raâkîn growled, softly. "Let's go," he snapped, his voice little more than a curtailed lash in the rapidly-thinning air. The hull of the Ba'Sugh, once painted in a dark, non-reflective shade of green, was now blotchy with an assortment of greens, grays, and rust; and from the rear of the darkened belly, a simple ladder of braided cable was descending for them. It was blunt; it was crude; it was Klingon._

_Tûrêl, one of his loyal companions, had accompanied __Raâkîn to the surface of the planet-cum-asteroid; and now he followed his leader, up the ladder and into the belly of the Ba'Sugh._

**Gamma Deuteron****Ceti**

Rudo Oni's eyes flickered about involuntarily as he entered the boss' private warrens. He was no stranger to the Syndicate, but meetings usually occurred outside, in the regular chambers; never here, in the inner alcove.

The officious Zakdorn squeezed past Rudo and out the door, leaving the newcomer alone with the Orion boss and his four guards. Every one of them was huge, at least by Rigelian standards; the four auxiliaries, mostly bare-chested, each overtly displayed sharp-edged scimitars hanging from metal-studded belts.

It was the hard-eyed glare of the boss which filled the room, casting about an atmosphere of biting acerbity and studied violence. Like many of his kind, his body was studded with jewelry; a row of pointed barbells ran the crest of his bald head, and embedded metal underlay the flesh of his forehead, adding a silver hue to his olive-green skin. But the eyes; the eyes were inescapable.

"Welcome." Vatis'Kish spoke graciously to his guest, opening his brawny arms wide. "Have a seat."

Rudo did as bidden; for the shorter Rigelian, the low-lying couches were of ordinary height. "Your hospitality is unrivaled," he offered in response.

Satisfied with the exchange, Vatis'Kish resumed his own seat, facing across at the newcomer. "Would you care for a drink? Some ale, perhaps?" the boss asked, already casting a vague gesture over his shoulder to summon the server.

"Ale would be nice," Rudo answered. "But I'm afraid my visit is purely for business reasons."

Vatis'Kish froze, almost imperceptibly, at the words. "Very well," he acknowledged, somewhat thoughtfully. A flick of his hand sent the four guards from the room. "Are you sure you won't be able to stay for a little relaxation?" he asked. "We've upgraded our entertainment since your last visit."

"I saw that," Rudo replied, licking his desiccated lips. The offer was tempting; even here, in the boss' chambers, he could detect the sweet perfumes and aphrodisiacs that permeated the complex. In a moment, they grew stronger; and the Orion serving girl appeared from behind luxurious velvet curtains, carrying two glasses and a bottle of violet ale.

As she sauntered toward them, Rudo could barely shift his sight from the swaying hips. Only a thin, flimsy chiffon covered them, hanging barely above the junction of her legs; and upward, her green curves glistened, accenting two breasts dangling without a gossamer teddy. As she leaned over to pour the ale, one popped out, perfectly positioned for the nipple to stroke his lips.

"Thank you," he croaked out as the girl turned and left, leaving behind a cloud of her own sensuous fragrances. His eyes lingered on her for a long moment after she departed; only then did he try to focus on the boss, forcing himself to concentrate in the intoxicant haze.

"So, now, my friend," Vatis'Kish said warmly. He lifted his own goblet and took a sip. "If you'll forgive my impoliteness…you're not prone to such flights of alarm. "What has you so concerned?"

Rudo Oni forced his thoughts together, focusing on the reason for his hurried mission. "There's a crew of rogue freebooters," he answered, his tongue stumbling slightly. "Operating along the Rigelian Corridor."

"There's nothing particularly unusual about that," Vatis'Kish observed. And there wasn't; the regions outside of the Hegemony's official territory, yet still within the Syndicate's sphere of influence, attracted any number of fly-by-night pirates. As long as the freebooters didn't stir up too much trouble, the Rigelian Trade Commission dealt with them.

And Rudo was an investigator with the Trade Commission.

"This particular crew has…overstepped their boundaries," the Rigelian answered. "I was dispatched to investigate a rumor that they successfully hijacked a Klingon bird-of-prey."

Not bothering to conceal his interest, Vatis'Kish shifted his bulk forward. It took considerable skill—and fortitude—to take a Klingon warship; and the combination made for a very unstable element.

And instability was bad for business; the freighters along the Corridor tolerated a small amount of minor piracy, but they paid the Syndicate to deal with anything larger.

"Thank you for the information, my friend," Vatis'Kish replied. "I'll send a ship to clean up the situation. But I do wonder…why does this need my personal attention?"

Rudo licked his lips again with nervous apprehension. "There was another part to the rumor…" He didn't quite know how to explain it; it sounded preposterous, even to him. "It's supposedly a crew of _humans._"

"_Humans?_" Vatis'Kish repeated the unfamiliar terms. "You mean _Earthers_?"

"Yes," Rudo confirmed uncomfortably. His feet were sweating bullets. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but…a crew of Vulcans allegedly confirmed the DNA."

"A crew of _Earthers _hijacked a _Klingon _ship?" Vatis'Kish sat backward, understanding now why this required his personal attention. Rudo would not have come to him without reason; but Earthers, as a rule, were a race of insignificant weaklings. There was a major anomaly at work.

_And anomalies are bad for business._

"Thank you, Rudo," Vatis'Kish answered softly. Flickering rays flashed about the room as he shook his head, the metal studs reflecting low lighting.

_When will fools realize that the Syndicate does not tolerate challenges?_

**Earth **

"There's a group of rogue humans playing pirate, out along the Rigelian Corridor," Archer responded. "The last—known—victim was a Vulcan freighter."

"Ah, I see," Soong answered with false sympathy. "I understand that you are…quite annoyed." His patience tiring, Soong moved to the point. "But what does this have to do with me?"

Archer refused to break his stride. "The pirates sacked the freighter, but left it largely intact. The Vulcans recovered DNA traces."

"Let me guess." Soong wagged a finger in the air as he continued facetiously. "Human?"

"Not quite."

The mocking bravado disappeared from Soong's face and was replaced with concern, as he realized what Archer meant. "I see," Soong said softly. _So that's why Archer came to me._

"They were Augments," Archer continued. "Their genetically-enhanced DNA matched embryos stolen from a medical facility over twenty years ago." The captain paused for emphasis. "Stolen by you."

Soong couldn't hide the look of pride on his face.


	3. Chapter 2

**Earth orbit**

_2200 hours, Starfleet Standardized Time._

It was late in the evening, and despite their best efforts to appear fresh and bright, the hour showed upon the seven _Enterprise _officers; of them, only Archer was dressed in full uniform, and it failed to hide the bags growing beneath his eyes. The others were adorned in various stages of civilian clothing and ship-board sleepwear—except for Phlox, who had no official uniform and no pajamas.

It was unusual—_highly unusual,_ Archer recognized—to call a mission briefing this late at night, when one sat in the protective embrace of space dock; but two more weeks of additional down-time was being compressed into…_ten hours,_ he noted, somewhat blearily. The _Enterprise _was rescheduled for launch at 0800 the following morning. It had taken half the day to assemble his command staff, and none of them would sleep until the starship passed the inner belt.

That is, _half _his command staff. Archer winced at the hiccup in his thoughts; for in name, his command staff was present, but the people were not. T'Pol, his right hand, was absent, still somewhere behind the veil of the Vulcan High Command; and in truth, Archer was worried that he might never see her again. Her decision to accompany the crew into the Expanse resulted in the High Command declaring T'Pol to be absent without leave; if and when the Vulcan doctors cleared her, she was facing charges for desertion.

Commander Tucker—the captain's _other _right hand. Trip was currently below decks, helping with the frenzied last-minute repairs and upgrades; but when they departed in the morning, Trip would be left behind, grounded indefinitely by powers greater than either of them.

Their replacements were capable…but it wasn't the same.

"I remember reading something about the embryos," Travis commented. He stood across from the captain, in the briefing alcove at the rear of the bridge. "But I don't remember anything about some going missing."

The room was small, with a worktable occupying center, but close quarters were a fact of working in space. "There's no public record of it," Archer explained, letting a sharp hint of displeasure tone his words. "Dr. Soong was charged with other offenses, and they negotiated a plea deal to keep him off the stand. Admiral Forrest said that there are barely fifty people alive who know the full story."

"It's unusual, but not unheard of," Malcolm added slowly. "There were a lot of people interested in keeping this quiet."

"If I may, Captain?" Phlox raised his voice to join the conversation. "How exactly are we supposed to _find _them?"

Archer grimaced; he had spent half the day searching for a good answer. "All we know for certain is that they're operating along the Rigelian Corridor," he answered, somewhat grudgingly; it was far from a satisfactory answer. "Vulcan Intelligence thinks that the Augments might be based in the Borderlands, but they're not certain."

"The Borderlands?" Hoshi added in, quizzically.

**126 Ceti**

_Maâlîk felt a surge of pride as he surveyed his new domain, his pleasure amplified by the sheer audacity of the hijacking. It was greater—by several magnitudes—than anything the exiles had tried before; Raâkîn was habitually cautious, reminding Maâlîk of the old Earth rodents he had read about: so eager to dive underground at the slightest hint of danger. They were weak animals, living in a dangerous world._

_But the exiles were __not__ weak; a wolf did not hide in its lair when a rabbit passed by, and neither should a proud and strong race hide itself from the common, servile masses. This ship—__his__ ship—was well-suited for the task ahead._

_He folded his arms, flexing his biceps with satisfaction._ _The interior of the ship was dimly lit, with only a handful of white and red bulbs glowing in hidden recesses, but it was little trouble for him; his augmented eyes handled the darkness with ease, effortlessly able to trace the sharp, jutting edges of the metallic bulkheads and support beams._ _The Klingons cared little about aesthetics or safety._

_From the rear hatchway, he stepped forward, across the vent grilles lining the deck. In the center of the bridge, forming a shallow "v" behind the commander's chair, were the tactical consoles; and he paused at one, studying the readouts that still scrolled across in Klingon nomenclature. Familiar with the alien language, Maâlîk almost preferred its harshness over the smooth prose of the evolving human standard; but he himself was human, and not an accursed Klingon._

_With a portion of his mind autonomously tracking the activity on the bridge, Maâlîk noted movement along the engineering consoles; another of the exiles, this one a brunette woman, was turning about in her chair. The barest flicker of his eyes indicated that Maâlîk was listening._

"_We've mastered their engineering controls," Pêrsîs reported with an evident air of distaste. "Câîm thinks he can make some improvements."_

_Maâlîk nodded slightly before smacking the weapons console with his hand. "Wing-mounted disruptor cannons, photon torpedo launchers." He glowered with eager satisfaction. "This ship's an arsenal!"_

_Pêrsîs smiled, somewhat coyly, at Maâlîk. "We're finally free."_

"_Yes." Maâlîk returned a predatory smile. "We've been stuck on that damned ball of rock for ten years, hiding like common vermin. With this—" he gestured at the ship around them. "With this, we can finally claim our rightful place."_

_The rear hatchway clanked again, interrupting their shared moment; framed in the threshold were three more of the exiles. The center one, taller than the others, with ragged blond hair, was Raâkîn; accompanying him, as if bodyguards, were __Ruâx and __Tûrêl. __Raâkîn led the way, stepping firmly and purposefully onto the bridge, sweeping it with an icy glare as his physical presence seemed to swell, filling the compartment with Antarctic calm._

**Earth orbit**

Travis nodded. "It's not the official designation," he explained, "but the Borderlands encompass portions of several sectors. My family never ran freight in that direction, but we traded stories with haulers who did. I gotta say, Captain," he added, changing his direction, "I can think of safer places to go."

Hoshi gave her fellow lieutenant a wry glare. "Like the Expanse?"

The wave of appreciative chuckles triggered a grin on Travis' face. "Point taken," he allowed as he began tapping the worktable controls. Above the flat, matte surface, a three-dimensional star grid suddenly materialized. "Here's the local sectors," he explained, infusing a portion of the map with misty, blue-tinted light. Four particular stars throbbed brighter than the rest, highlighting the familiar home systems of Vulcan, Andor, Tellar Prime, and Earth.

"Now here—" Travis tapped the controls again, this time summoning a green-tinted cloud. It was roughly twice as large as the first, but the two didn't quite touch; seen from afar, the two seemed to form the upper-left and lower-left legs of a diamond. "That's Orion space," he explained. "Both the official Hegemony, and the Syndicate's sphere of influence. And here—" A third cloud appeared, this one tinted in tan; at its nearest terminus, the region was still some fifty light-years from Orion space, giving the diamond a skewed look. "That's Klingon space."

"And the area inside—" Hoshi gestured towards the misshapen lump of space between the three-legged diamond—"that's the Borderlands?"

"Dead on," Travis replied.

"Starfleet figures that someday, someone will lay claim to it," Archer added, analyzing the map for himself. "It has some strategic value, but that's it."

"The Borderlands are quite scientifically fascinating," Verena Jordan chimed in for the first time, her choice of wording eliciting several groans. The young woman, T'Pol's temporary replacement, was a veteran of the _Enterprise_'s mission in the Delphic Expanse. "It's roughly four thousand cubic light-years of dust and dirt, with only scarce stars, surrounded by richly-populated space."

"Infinite diversity in infinite combinations," Malcolm murmured.

"It's not completely barren," Travis added. "There are clumps of rock; asteroids and shattered planetary cores. It's a profitable place for rare mineral extraction…if you can stand the isolation. The Rigelian Corridor—" He pressed the controls again, this time summoning a bright red line that ran the length of the lower-left side. "It runs from Andor and Vulcan, and down to the Beta Rigel system. If you keep following it, you'll end up at the Klingon homeworld. It's the biggest conduit for shipping in known space, but it comes at a cost."

Travis zeroed the starmap in, highlighting the Corridor. "See here?" he said, poking a finger into the map. "On one side is Orion space. On the other are the Borderlands." The Corridor itself was a sandwiched tunnel, skating its way between the two. "You drift to one side, you get sacked by the Orions; drift to the other, and you get lost in an ocean of dust."

"So…" Phlox allowed the single syllable to drag out. "How exactly are we supposed to _find _them?"

Archer raised a brow towards Malcolm, who stepped into the briefing role. "These—" three blinking indicators flashed on as he spoke—"are the attacks confirmed by Vulcan Intelligence. And these—" another dozen or so popped up, flashing at slower intervals. "Are confirmed attacks, suspected to be the Augments." The first three were clustered along a stretch of five light-years, while the latter dozen expanded lengthwise to cover approximately twenty light-years; located almost entirely in sector 010, the affected stretch of the Corridor began on the far side of Beta Rigel and ended in the vicinity of the 31 Cancri system.

"What kind of ships are the Augments using?" Travis asked.

"The only confirmations are for rundown transport shuttles," Malcolm replied, sensing the navigator's train of thought. "Their effective operative range can't be more than five light-years."

"So we're looking at a cylinder of space some twenty light-years long…five light-years in radius…" Travis' face puckered as he ran the equation through his mind. "Sixteen hundred cubic light-years."

Hoshi's brow began to wrinkle. "I know this isn't my area," she said, "but we can't cover that much space with a normal search grid, can we?"

Travis smiled and shook his head. "Nope," he answered promptly. "Sixteen hundred cubic light-years? It would take three, four months."

Phlox released an uncharacteristically loud sigh. "So, Captain, how exactly are we supposed to _find _them?" he asked, for the third time.

There was no use sugar-coating it. "We're bringing Soong along," Archer replied somberly. "We have to get the information from him."

**126 Ceti **

"_A fine ship." Raâkîn growled as he spoke, his voice chilled with hostility. "It's a pity that we have to destroy it."_

_Maâlîk bristled. "I thought you'd be pleased," he spat out, chafing with the effort of restraining himself. "With this ship, we no longer have to run from engagement. We can __fight__." Maâlîk tilted his head. "Or have you forgotten how to do that, Raâkîn?"_

_Before a snarl even escaped his lips, Raâkîn shifted his weight forward, lashing out with a flashing backslap; his hand struck Maâlîk across the face, the force sending the smaller exile up and over the console at his back. Equally fast, Maâlîk was back on his feet, surging forward towards Raâkîn; but the other two exiles had drawn daggers, halting Maâlîk in mid-step._

_Maâlîk bit back his initial retort, instead staring at Raâkîn with malignant intensity as he raised a hand to the other exiles, signaling that he would not attack. "I thought you'd be pleased," he snarled, spitting a mouthful of blackened blood onto the deck plates._

_Raâkîn returned the deadly glare, and for a moment, neither exile spoke. "I didn't sanction this attack," Raâkîn growled._

"_But we succeeded," Maâlîk rejoined through clenched teeth._

"_Do you think that matters?" Raâkîn snarled bitterly. "The Klingons will be out for vengeance. They undoubtedly have ships looking for us already."_

_Maâlîk __broke into an angry laugh. "They won't find us!" He glanced around; his outburst had drawn the focus of the bridge crew, none of whom would meet his eyes. He looked down again. "It was time for us to leave this godforsaken planet," he growled softly._

"_That is __my__ decision to make, not yours," __Raâkîn retorted._ _His voice quieted momentarily. "Have you forgotten who I am?" His eyes were slit angrily; and after a second's pause, he barked, "HAVE YOU?"_

"_No, __Raâkîn__," __Maâlîk__ said, his voice lacking emotion._

"_Say it," __Raâkîn __spat out, not breaking his steady glare._

_Maâlîk's response barely escaped through clenched teeth. "You're…our…leader," he replied, grinding out the words._

_Raâkîn smiled in satisfaction. "Notify me when our supplies are on board," he said, turning to __Tûrêl. "We need to leave the system before the Klingons arrive."_

**Earth orbit**

_0600 hours._

"What's the verdict, Trip?" Archer asked with feigned cheerfulness as the two men rounded the outermost ring of E-deck, on route to the airlock.

"I think it's a lousy time for a shake-down cruise," Trip replied, shaking his head in wonderment. The commander—his utility overalls did not have any rank insignia—still looked slightly worse for the wear, but better than he had been in previous weeks. "We haven't even checked all of the stembolts yet."

"We…might be taking care of some things during the cruise." Archer picked his words carefully, trying to reveal everything while saying nothing; it didn't seem right, keeping his once—and hopefully future—chief engineer in complete darkness.

"Oh." Trip's superficial nonchalance couldn't quite conceal his unease. "Smitty's a good engineer," he added quickly, as they turned the final angle of the corridor.

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Archer said, cracking a wry smile as he spoke. The two men came to a halt in the small anteroom. "_Smitty?_"

Trip's own grin was characteristically crooked. "Yeah, it has nothing to do with his real name. Tell you what—I'll explain it to you, when you bring the _Enterprise _back in one piece." His eyes shifted to the open airlock doors, and the umbilical beyond. "I gotta go, Captain," he added, cheerlessly. It was painful, leaving the ship and his crew on the dawn of a potentially-dangerous meeting.

Archer nodded in understanding. "We'll be back in a few weeks, Trip," he replied softly. "In the meantime…take care of yourself, okay? I want you back on full duty when we return."

"I don't know about that, Captain," Trip answered lightly, giving a furtive wink. "They have me working on the _Columbia._" The _Enterprise_'s sister ship was one dock over, going through the final protocols prior to its own launch. "She's the little sister: younger and hotter."

"Get your ass off _my _ship, Commander," Archer retorted, unable to quash a covert chuckle. "I'll see you when we get back."

**Leaving 126 Ceti**

_The darkness was unending._

_Reaching outward in every direction, the blackness welcomed them, inviting them into the comforting depths of unlit wastelands, providing safety and solace in the nether-regions of space; vast regions of Stygian gloom between far-distant stars, with distant pinpricks offering little more than the dying breath of twilight, swallowed up by the never-ending cloak of sunless obscurity._

_Somewhere behind them was a fading ember, the last remnant of that isolated isle, clinging tenuously to meager heat against the besieging assault of the darkness. For ten years—measured according to the orbit of an alien planet in a distant system—it had provided shelter and sanctuary, keeping the exiled children alive, but little more; comfort, abundance, and repose were not in the cards as the bedraggled band hid away, coming of age in the midst of such life-adverse conditions._

_And now, __Raâkîn knew, even that much has been taken from us. The rocky, fragmented orb had provided little more than safety by virtue of anonymity; but thanks to the recklessness of Maâlîk, their obscurity was gone. Preying on small vessels—derelicts, usually, fending off the other bottom-feeders and scavengers—had been one thing. But pirating main-line shipping was something different, something bound to draw the attention of far-more-powerful beings._

_And no one—not the Orions, not the Rigelians, and none of the other races which utilized the Corridor—was going to tolerate the presence of a bird-of-prey._

_The exiles were strong and vibrant; despite the deprivation of their lives, superior genes and conditioning allowed them to develop into powerful young men and women, easily capable of besting their foes in isolated engagements. They were champions, but their own brazenness was summoning the fury of armies; and even Spartacus had been unable to overcome the might of the Roman legions._

_It was unfortunate, Raâkîn recognized, but "Alea iacta est;" the die is cast. It was time for the exiles to flee, to find a new sanctuary, far away from their present enemies; and there, they could carve out a new home, have children, and give birth to a new race of man._

_And if Maâlîk jeopardized the exiles again, Raâkîn would have no choice but to kill him._

**Earth orbit**

Only one task remained prior to launch.

The prisoner—no longer clad in a prison jumpsuit, but wearing a pea-green coat that had seen better days—slowly shuffled along the umbilical, taking care to make no fast movements. A pair of security officers followed behind him, their weapons trained on the aging doctor; and the third, a lieutenant, came behind them, brandishing a data padd and a palm-sized electromagnetic transponder.

Approaching the near terminus, Dr. Soong raised his cuffed hands, as if a supplicant before the captain's throne. "Permission to come aboard, sir?" he asked with the familiar, faintly-mocking tone. He smiled and nodded at the captain with insouciant grace.

Frowning, the captain turned away from Soong. "This is my tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Reed," he replied curtly, indicating the stiff-lipped Brit.

Malcolm's accent was even more clipped than usual. "Doctor."

Soong replied with a tightened look of his own. "I've heard of you," he observed coolly, "but I don't recognize your face." He leaned inward, as if giving a piece of advice. "You're not getting your fair share of publicity."

"I think I've had all I can stand," Reed muttered at a barely-audible level.

"We've prepared some quarters," Archer broke in, quickly quashing the would-be joust. "You'll be under guard at all times. If you should decide you need to…'clear your head'," he added with a faint smile.

Although Soong tried to mask his response, Archer could tell that his jab struck home. "We're on a starship soon to be at high warp," Soong retorted. "Where exactly would I go?"

_Point, set, match, _Archer thought to himself with a cringe. "Your quarters are this way," he said, gesturing down the corridor. Seemingly indifferent, Soong stepped down from the airlock; Archer quickly signed the data padd and retrieved the manacle key.

Two of the _Enterprise_'s own officers, Ensigns Rahimi and O'Connell, took up positions on either side of the doctor and directed him down the corridor, and Soong spoke up as they began to walk. "If I could examine the DNA samples the Vulcans recovered," he suggested, speaking over his shoulder towards the captain, "I could tell you something about the current state of the Augments."

Despite the doctor's penchant for insincerity and verbal sparing, Archer felt as though the offer was sincere. "I'll have the information sent to your quarters," he agreed, following behind as they rounded a corner.

"A laboratory would be preferable," Soong countered hopefully. "Your sickbay would be excellent. In fact, I'd enjoy meeting your Doctor Phlox; he has quite the reputation. We could…trade notes."

"I'll consider it." The chill in Archer's voice cut short any further requests.

**Somewhere**

_The darkened corridors of the Ba'Sugh vibrated with the power of the bird-of-prey, humming noisily as the mighty engines thrust the warship across the jet-black expanse of space; it was a raw and lean force, stripped of creature comforts, designed solely for agility and precision in battle. The Klingon Empire possessed brawnier ships, heavy dreadnaughts built for imposing their will upon the Empire's foes; but the Ba'Sugh, nimble and quick, packed quite a punch of its own._

_And yet, __Maâlîk reflected as he waited in the shadows, willing his muscular frame to disappear in the recesses, we're using it as a glorified escape pod; even now, the ship was warping its way across space, further and further away from their birthright. The might, the force, the intensity of the warship was being used for the ignoble purpose of hiding their escape._

_But that was the decision of their leader. And every exile was bound, on the parting commands of their father, to obey Raâkîn in all things._

"_Pssst." The Augment hissed harshly as his target entered the corridor, and stepping out in the dim yellow and red lighting, he exposed himself to the newcomer. The second exile glanced around, as if checking for eavesdropping ears; and then ducked into an alcove with Maâlîk._

"_Raâkîn is taking us down the Corridor," Pêrsîs whispered harshly, her voice raspy. She moved closer to her fellow exile, drawn in by the potent aroma of his masculinity. "He wouldn't show me the exact coordinates, but he said that it's a system where 'we can live in peace.'" Pêrsîs snorted, as if shocked by the absurdity. "But I'm sure he's already told you that much."_

"_Raâkîn doesn't tell me anything," Maâlîk answered, his voice ringing with resentment. "But his designs are not hard to crack."_

"_This isn't what our father wanted." Biting her lip, Pêrsîs looked away for a moment before continuing. "He didn't raise us to—to run away and hide." She shook her head silently. "It's not right." She raised her hands slowly, moving them across Maâlîk's chiseled torso with warm caress._

_Maâlîk quivered, almost imperceptibly, under the tender touch. "Raâkîn is scared," he murmured, reaching out to hold Pêrsîs by the arms, feeling her heat around him; the urge to take her was nearly overpowering, but he forced it down, pouring his focus into their words. "He's scared of our destiny."_

_As if hearing a noise, Pêrsîs turned her head quickly. "Well, what do you propose we do?" she whispered, bringing her eyes back to her fellow exile._

"_Raâkîn might listen to you," Maâlîk suggested intently, pulling her stray hairs from his mouth; it helped strengthen him, give him focus, concentrate on what mattered. "You could convince him to reconsider."_

_Stepping into Maâlîk's embrace, Pêrsîs looked up at him with moistened eyes. "He only wants one thing from me," she said softly, sliding her hands around his torso. "And it isn't advice."_

_Maâlîk's eyes narrowed harshly. "It doesn't suit you," he replied, tenderness warring with bitterness. "Playing the victim. It doesn't suit you."_

_Pêrsîs stepped away slightly, in a fog of confusion. "What do you mean?"_

"_You chose Raâkîn," Maâlîk retorted. Her face fell as the blow struck hard. "You wanted it from him."_

"_Fuck you," Pêrsîs whispered angrily. Bringing her hands to the front of his chest, she pushed the taller exile into the bulkhead, turned, and strode off down the corridor._

_Maâlîk punched the bulkhead in frustration, rewarded only the buckling of hardened plasticine beneath the force of his fist._

**Earth**

_0800 hours._

_It's actually a relief, _Archer thought to himself as he stepped onto the _Enterprise _bridge, feeling the familiar sense of home and duty around him. To leave space dock, to leave command, to head off into the vast unknown depths of interstellar space…the gravity of their mission couldn't completely temper the eagerness that swelled upward, the desire to see just what lays out there.

"Status report," he ordered sharply, strolling purposefully across the room. His mind catalogued the responses as they rolled in.

"All tactical systems are a go." _Malcolm Reed._

"Science is a go." _Verena Jordan._

"Communications is a go." _Hoshi Sato._

"Engineering is a go." _Kelby, serving as the bridge liaison during launch._

"Sickbay is a go." _Although not required, Phlox had joined them._

"Helm is a go." _Travis Mayweather._

"Very well." Archer sat down in his command chair, squirmed for a moment, and stood back up; it wasn't the _command _portion he minded…it was the _chair _portion that conflicted with his own sense of keen anticipation.

"You're cleared for launch, _Enterprise_." The overhead voice—with the slightest touch of static—came over the speakers from space dock command.

Even on a 'shakedown' launch, Archer couldn't help but exhale with a deep breath of pride. He was in command of a _starship_, the pride and joy of Earth's fleet, an unprecedented technological feat; he had an extraordinary crew, most of whom he had been to hell with, returning successfully to tell about it. And the stars—the same stars that had tantalized humanity for millennia—were within grasp.

The wonder was still there.

"Take us out, Travis," he ordered.

The young navigator punched in appropriate commands, signaling to space dock to begin; the first stage of launch was controlled by the facility.

Outside the ship, suited workers watched from vantage points atop the great arms and girders as the remaining umbilicals detached from the hull with miniature puffed explosions, waving snakelike as they retracted into the facility's mechanical bays. The impulse engines cast a blue glow as they warmed, and the mighty starships began easing forward, meters at a time, its course kept perfectly straight by dozens of miniature beams on every side.

Running lights came on, proudly illuminating the giant "_Enterprise_" painted on the ship's dorsal hull as they passed from the protective cradle, the great starship—shattered only months earlier—once again moving under its own power. It was a marvel of engineering, the best that humanity could build, and it promised the opening of a bold, new era.

"This is space dock command." The voice again came across the speakers. "Control is now transferred to the _Enterprise._ Godspeed, _Enterprise._"


	4. Chapter 3

**Sector 010**

Captain's Log, May 13, 2154. We're five days out of Deneva, and three days past the Beta Rigel system, traveling at full cruising speed towards the location of the attack on the Vulcan freighter. I'm not sure what we'll find there—very likely, nothing—but at the moment, we have very little else to go on.

Tensions on the ship are inordinately high due to the presence of a subspace echo. It has been holding a relative position roughly one light-year to our ventral starboard for much of the past two days. Engineering has torn apart and rebuilt three separate sensor relays, and as of the moment, the echo does not appear to be a sensor glitch.

...

"Maâlîk." Soong chuckled with obvious gratification as he watched the displays scroll across the overhead monitors of sickbay, side-by-side with Doctor Phlox. Together, the two men were reviewing the DNA fragments recovered by the Vulcans for any hint, any indication, any sign of something out of order; anything that would give the _Enterprise _an edge.

_It would help, _Phlox reflected, _if Soong was sincere about helping. _Ten days into the mission, and Soong had yet to provide anything of value, offering only sardonic comments and misdirection; taking great joy in the desultory pursuit of his offspring as though it were a game, with the confidence of an adult playing against a child.

Phlox wanted to hit him.

Soong kept chuckling as he watched the genetic sequences, instantly converting the mélange of lines and letters into a living being, a face and identity, the blood and viscera of real life. "That sequence right…here," he narrated, a little pompously, pointing to an otherwise-indistinguishable line of genetic code. "Only Maâlîk has that one."

Phlox peered at it suspiciously. "What exactly does it do?"

"It helps protect his hemoglobin from competitive molecules," Soong replied, shrugging nonchalantly. "He'll never have to worry about carbon monoxide poisoning. Truth be told, I'm not surprised that Maâlîk was involved with the attack."

Phlox counted to three before biting. "Why is that?"

"Maâlîk was the rebellious one," Soong replied, the pride evident in his tone. "Reminded me of myself when I was his age, in fact. I had to punish him a number of times…but it only encouraged him to become more creative in his efforts," Soong added, his eyes misting over with reverie. "Do you have children, Doctor?"

"I do," Phlox replied slowly. "I have three sons and two daughters."

"And when was the last time you saw them?"

"It's been a couple years," Phlox admitted, smiling bashfully as he saw where Soong was leading him. "And yes, I've kept in touch with them."

"Ahh." Soong let the single syllable drag out. "So you know where they are? And you know what they're doing with their lives? And you had the chance to see them grow, see them develop, into vibrant young adults?" As he spoke, Soong's cooing sarcasm became sharper. "My children were ten years old, Doctor, when I was ripped away from them. And they weren't simply given to someone else; they were cast out, exiled from all of humanity, left to fend for their own, at the ripe age of ten! Oh, I knew they'd survive," Soong added, no longer disguising the acerbic resentment; involuntarily, Phlox shifted away from the doctor, as if fleeing the acrid bitterness. "They're too _intelligent, _too _strong_. But I've spent every day of the last ten years not knowing where my children _are_!"

More rattled then he cared to admit, Phlox's mind scrambled for a neutral topic. "This is extremely sophisticated work for twentieth-century Earth," he commented, trying to quash the quaver in his voice.

"Well, I added some modifications of my own." Like that, the veil fell back over Soong's expression, hiding his animus beneath the familiar masquerade of a sarcastic smile and mocking lilt. "Isn't the goal of every parent to improve their offspring?"

"Really?" Phlox's reply flickered between intrigue and alarm. "What kind of modifications?"

"Nothing that need concern you." Soong's eyes flashed momentarily.

The words slipped out before Phlox could stop himself. "I think it already has."

The human whirled about swiftly, fixing angered daggers on Phlox. "What are you saying, _Denobulan_?" Soong spat out venom. "It's fine when _your _people do it, but, '_Oh, God!'_" Flinging his arms in the air, Soong raised his voice to a panicked falsetto. "'We can't trust those _humans _with genetics!' Because obviously, _Doctor,_ your people are so _much _better than we humans when it comes to medicine!"

"When humans tried genetic augmentation, the result was thirty million deaths!" Phlox rejoined fiercely, his ire blazing to the scorching point, his fury moving him forward until Phlox was staring down at the human doctor. "Maybe we have good _reason _to not trust humans with genetics!"

"Ah, and _there _it is!" Soong shot back, with an acerbic sneer, over the shoulders of two rapidly-moving security officers. Together, they lifted Soong, shifting him backward even while a raised hand halted Phlox in his path. "What, humans are incapable of _learning _from their mistakes?"

"Humans can," Phlox snarled. "But _you _haven't."

"I was raising my children with a sense of responsibility, Doctor!" Soong hollered back, struggling futilely with the iron grip of the guards. "They weren't tyrants in the making! At least, until I was _taken away_ from them!"

As his wave of anger ebbed away, Phlox regarded Soong suspiciously. "You really believe that, don't you?"

It sent Soong's eyebrows upward in surprise. "Of course," he replied, the shock vanquishing his fury. "It's not as though there's a gene controlling ambition—and if there was, we could simply turn it off. The flaws of the Chrysalis Project had nothing to do with genetics; those children were _raised_ to be egocentric tyrants."

"And that's how you propose to make it work?" Phlox answered slowly, weighing the argument with great care. "You believe that it is a simple matter of conditioning?"

"Isn't that how your people do it?" Soong jabbed back, unable to pass on the opportunity. "But can't you see the possibilities, Doctor? If I can demonstrate that humans can engage in genetic augmentation, without that _shit _resulting—" This was punctuated with a hand flung outward for emphasis. "Curing disease and neurological disorders is only the beginning. Imagine if we strengthened physical resistance to hard radiation—or modified the respiratory system to function in a thin atmosphere. We could ensure the survival of the _human race._"

**Somewhere**

_Raâkîn was weary._

_Sitting in the command chair of the Ba'Sugh, the exile leader let his body slump forward, catching his face in the palm of his hands. His index fingers traced upward, finding his temples, and he began to massage gently; augmented blood vessels pressed against soft brain tissue, causing a never-ending ache that at times grew into crippling pains._

_A part of him—the neural pathways that flew faster than computers, the memory nodes that stored away every detail of his life—could recall and identify, to the minute, how long it had been since the exiles left their refuge. Another part of him preferred not to, yearning for the simplicity of memories that ran together, merging into one, obliterating the pounding remembrance of every second of every day. There were times when it was too much; when he sought the solace of forgetfulness, but could not find it._

_It had been—days—since their flight began, heading further and further away from a planet they had never seen, a planet that taunted the exiles with the pain of their eternal banishment. Endless duty, endless work, details requiring his attention at every moment; keeping the Ba'Sugh operating smoothly, overseeing their creature needs, constantly adjudicating disputes that threatened to spill over, shattering the delicate order that he was able to maintain._

_And then there was the constant danger of pursuers, some bent on rage, others vengeance, others acting out of fear; the outcomes, though different, were the same. One was a quick death, another a painful death; and another the insanity-inducing monotony of lifetime confinement. Was there a single being out there who would allow the exiles to achieve the liberty that was, after all, the human dream? Or were the übermenschen condemned to an existence as a permanent caste of undesirables?_

_Taking a deep breath, Raâkîn dropped his hands and leaned backward, rolling his head toward the ceiling. There were those among his brothers and sisters who wanted to turn back; some in the mistaken belief that the exiles could somehow overpower the entirety of Earth, twenty Augments against four billion baseline humans, and others desiring a self-destructive blaze of glory, a perverse declaration of their unwillingness to subject themselves to the strictures of a flawed society._

_No. He had a duty to his brethren, and he would protect them._

**Sector 010**

Porthos leapt into sudden alertness, awaking his slumbering companion.

A split second later, the wail of the _Enterprise_'s alarm sirens came crashing into the captain's quarters, but Archer was already on his feet and propelling himself, in the dizzying state of incomplete wakefulness, his mind automatically cataloguing the specific pattern. _Unidentified ship_, his brain registered. _Potentially hostile. _It could be worse, but it could also be better.

Mentally cursing the fool at Starfleet Command who had decided upon awkward-to-get-into coveralls for uniforms, Archer slipped on a pair of sweatpants and grabbed a t-shirt as he fell through the doorway, catching himself with well-honed grace on the bulkhead immediately across. Dimly aware of his surroundings, he noted peripherally as crewmembers hastened around him to their own duty posts, each one making way for another in an intricate dance of practiced precision.

Porthos, content that his duty was done, curled up on the now-vacant warm spot on the bed and fell straight asleep.

...

Travis, standing at the focal point of activity, acknowledged Archer with a curt "Captain!" as his superior hit the bridge, lift doors hissing shut behind him. The transfer of command was that simple. "Two unidentified vessels on intercept!" Travis reported briskly, stepping down from the command dais. The young crewman manning the helm moved aside quickly, and Travis slid into the console, already readjusted mentally from command to navigation.

Archer forced himself to slow down, enough to take stock of the bridge as he crossed to his command chair. They were in the middle of third shift; Travis was only present due to an amended command schedule, and the remainder of the posts were still manned by relief officers—in the corner of his eye, Archer noted the arrival of Hoshi, seemingly from nowhere and dressed in something that looked suspiciously like a bathing robe.

"Vector!" Archer ordered as he trotted into the well, forgoing his command chair for his preferred vantage point over Travis' shoulder. "The subspace echo?"

Travis shook his head sharply. "Different vector, sir. And the echo disappeared a few seconds after the ships registered on our sensors."

"Meaning?"

"Just a guess, Captain, but I'd say sensor drone," Travis answered remotely, the active portion of his mind subsumed in three-dimensional navigation.

The lift doors opened again, registering subconsciously on the captain's mind as Commander Reed and Ensign Jordan were deposited onto the bridge, rounding out the primary crew. As the two officers trotted to their respective duty posts, Archer tapped a control, tamping down the screech of the siren. "Malcolm, I need an ID on those ships!" he barked out, glancing over his shoulder. "And time to intercept!"

"They're coming in fast!" Verena responded first, pulling the data from her science console. "TTI at twenty-seven seconds!"

"Hoshi!" Archer snapped out.

"The freshly-minted lieutenant needed no more direction. "No response yet!" she called back. Her face puckered as she scanned the subspace channels, searching for any indication of a signal.

"Captain!" Malcolm's holler brought a sense of cold silence to the bridge. "ID'd as two Orion heavy cruisers."

Their luck had run out.

...

"We're in range," Khali'Haas announced gruffly. "Passing two hundred _pedj-aa._" The burly, green-skinned Orion stood to one side of the command deck, manning the tactical readouts, and he tilted his head only slightly towards the boss to indicate that he was awaiting orders; it would have been improper to alter his gaze from the sensor readings.

"Close to a hundred _pedj-aa_," Vatis'Kish grunted. A quick survey of the command deck, laid out before him, confirmed that his ship and crew were ready; but then, he expected nothing less. The unknown vessel on his viewscreen—an off-shaped disc with gangly nacelle pylons jutting out the rear—was an unexpected find, but hardly enough to alarm a professional crew

"Come about to station keeping. Do we have an ID on the ship?"

"Waiting," Khali'Haas replied, the practiced shorthand coming automatically. "The databanks have a single hit, Boss. No name given, but it's listed as being affiliated with the government of Earth."

"Earth?" The boss' head turned slowly, purposely, towards his officer as he spoke; the identification was unusual enough to require confirmation.

The response came a moment later. "Yeah, Boss. Something called 'Starfleet'…cross-referenced as being a government agency."

_Now that's odd,_ Vatis'Kish mused silently. Earth had no official presence for dozens of light-years. His voice boomed across the command deck as he checked off the list in his mind. "Power and weaponry?"

A sudden bark of bemused laughter answered. "According to their power signature, it should be equivalent to a light cruiser," another Orion answered, his jewelry jangling as he shook his head with perplexed surprise. "But the weaponry—my grandmother's yacht is better armed, Boss."

"Hey, Boss, you gotta see this," Khali'Haas chimed in, chortling audibly. "Says here that ship is Earth's _entire _long-range fleet!" The pronouncement sent a rousing chorus of derisive catcalls across the command deck.

Vatis'Kish sat back in his chair, amused by their find. "I don't think this is the ship we're looking for, boys," he added, his stolid expression countered by a jocular tone. The ship before them was scarcely capable of hijacking a Klingon bird-of-prey; _hell, _he reflected wryly, _it could barely best an unarmed freighter._

"Orders, Boss?"

Vatis'Kish sat silently for a moment while the laughter subsided, weighing options in his mind; toying with the idea of simply seizing the ship for scrap and its crew for slaves, as was customary with most insignificant spacecraft. _It would barely even be a training exercise, _he mused, forming a plan of attack in his head.

_But—_but he was not out here looking for seizure; he was out here looking for answers. _And, _he admitted, the Earth starship was piquing his curiosity; _only a fool—or someone very audacious—would travel in these regions without proper defenses. Which one are these humans? And perhaps…are they connected, at all, with the reports of human pirates?_

It called for inquiry. "Hail them," Vatis'Kish ordered brusquely.

...

"Captain, incoming hail!" Hoshi announced across the bridge of the _Enterprise_, her brow furrowing as she focused on isolating the signal. "They're requesting visual!"

Jonathan Archer nodded slowly as he straightened his posture, doing his best to project an image of a strong—albeit half-dressed—starship captain. "On screen, Hoshi," he ordered, steeling himself against the precariousness of their plight.

The view of the two cruisers disappeared, replaced with an interior shot dwarfed by the presence of a hulking Orion, presumably the commander of the two-ship formation; the green giant's head nearly filled the screen, covered with silver jewelry and barbells that glinted in the light. The remainder, a montage of surprisingly-warm golden-browns and tans, was barely visible around the periphery of the screen.

Archer had never seen an Orion before; at least, not in person. Computer images, he realized, just didn't do the beings justice; a chill sunk to the pit of his stomach, where it lay inert, a leaden ball of frozenness within.

The beast's generous smile belied the air of calm lethality that he projected. "I am Vatis'Kish," he pronounced magnanimously, his tone one of perfect hospitality; the affability set Archer's hair on end. "We couldn't help but notice that you're a newcomer to the region. Is there something we can help you with? Some supplies, perhaps? Food and beverage? Or perhaps your crew is tired, and would prefer some rest and entertainment," he added breezily. "I'm sure they've earned some time off."

Archer did his best to shrug casually as he tried to match the imposing figure. "We're out here exploring," he called out, forcing his voice steady. "I'm Jonathan Archer, captain of the Earth starship _Enterprise._"

"Indeed?" Vatis'Kish raised his voice with seeming surprise. "Captain, if you need starcharts, all you have to do is ask. Our generosity is legendary, after all."

"Perhaps later," Archer replied steadily, beginning to settle into his usual groove. "May I ask what you're doing here? As far as my…flawed starcharts indicate, this isn't Hegemony space."

"Nor is it Earth space," Vatis'Kish observed, as his jowls shook with a boisterous chuckle. "But the Hegemony has…interests in this region. I'm simply here to protect them."

Archer exchanged a quick, darting look with Malcolm before pressing forward. "And what are those interests?" It was risky, acting as though he had the upper hand against a man accustomed to power, but Archer had no intention of yielding.

"We came out here looking for a ship of humans," Vatis'Kish replied, and Archer felt a rushing chill as the air on the _Enterprise _bridge dropped rapidly; the Orion's voice grew quiet, unveiling a steel edge. "And we found a ship of humans. Quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

_Shit. Shit. Shit. _Archer repeated the word unwillingly as his mind raced, trying to land on something better to say. _Are the Orions also looking for the Augments? Do the Orions __know__ that they're Augments? And that they're rogues, acting completely on their own? Or—_and the thought was not pleasant—_do they think that we're working __with__ the Augments?_

_...  
_

"Although I have to say, Captain, you're not quite what I expected," Vatis'Kish commented dryly as he sat back, sending a practiced air of indifference. "You're a little puny. And rather _pink._" He squinted his eyes closely, noting that only two of the five humans fit that description; but he let it pass, electing to let the intended derision stand. "I don't suppose there could be _two _human crews out here, could there?"

The human captain took a moment before responding. "There could be many," he answered finally, somewhat combatively, searching for a safe escape from the trap question.

"Captain, are you saying that there are humans operating without your government's knowledge?" Vatis'Kish smiled, only slightly, as he laid another snare.

"If you knew of any, I'm sure you'd share the information with us," the human came back swinging. "I've heard about your 'generosity' in such matters."

"Such rumors would be a far better explanation for your presence than 'starcharting,' Captain Archer," the Orion boss observed, feeling the advantage opening before him. "But since you mention it…yes, we have heard rumors of a crew of humans operating along the Corridor. They've allegedly hijacked a Klingon bird-of-prey." _And there's my mark, _Vatis'Kish thought with satisfaction; the human flinched differently to the two pieces of information. _The second one surprised him, but the first one didn't._

_But…_the boss flipped through his mind, cataloguing thoughts and possibilities. _A pirate crew eventually needs a base of operations—particularly one operating so far from their home planet. And the only nest of humans out here_—_are Soong's brood. Soong and his genetic freakshow._

As he dredged up half-forgotten memories, the boss frowned to himself. The human doctor Soong had made several arrangements with the Orion Syndicate; but agents from Earth had hunted down the doctor, and returned him to that beggarly ball of rock. _What am I missing here?_

_The children, _he realized. _The children were never located. And now…they'd be adults. And they might just be enhanced enough to best Klingons in physical combat._

_...  
_

"Thank you, Captain," the Orion's voice boomed, reverberating across the _Enterprise _bridge with baritone gravitas. "It's been a pleasure meeting you. And if there's something we can do for you—please, don't hesitate to ask."

Archer caught himself before responding to the now-closed comm channel.

"Helm, set a basic strafing pattern," Vatis'Kish ordered abruptly, addressing the pilot before him. "And weapons—set a simple attack. I want them shaken up, damaged a little, but not dead in space."

There was little flurry of activity as the cruiser's crew shifted smoothly into battle readiness. "Have the transporters preselect targets for abduction—nine, let's say," Vatis'Kish added, going with the simple round number. "But leave their command staff. Check off."

"Helm, ready."

"Weapons, ready," Khali'Haas rumbled.

"Transporters, ready."

The boss grunted once with satisfaction. He'd come out here searching for a purported crew of human pirates—but a much riper opportunity, a chance to challenge and evaluate these humans, was sitting before him.

_Let's see what they do._ "Execute."

...

"Captain, the cruisers are moving—"

"They're closing, strafing run!"

"Travis, evasive! Malcolm, lock and return fire!"

Alarms rang out across the _Enterprise_ as the starship trembled, concussed by the punch of raw energy slamming against the hull in great spurts of fiery lightning; the backwash of her own torpedoes rocked the _Enterprise _again as the warheads rocketed forward, acquiring their target on the fly. In rapid succession, three struck the Orion cruiser, leaving little damage but black scarring on the hull; the fourth flew past into the darkness, where it would self-detonate after a pre-set length of time.

"Status!" Archer snapped, staggering towards the relative stability of his command chair. Around him, the bridge rocked furiously as the inertial dampeners screamed, overloaded by the punch of weaponry; the crew was clinging to their posts, knuckles white in effort as they hung on.

"They're coming about for another run!" Verena hollered out, charting their foe's movements on the science console. "Helm, there's a hole at bearing—two-four-one-mark-seven!"

"Get us out, Travis!" Archer roared, struggling to propel his voice over the racket. A harsh whine spiraled upward before shattering, spraying pungent gases across the bridge, forcing Archer to clench his eyes tightly against the caustic vapors; feeling the heat of fire on his skin, he dove to the deck. "Malcolm, cover fire!"

In the depths of his cells, the captain felt the _Enterprise_ keel hard, pushed to its limits by the tight turn; and in the growing darkness, the world shuddered hard as the starship leapt to warp.

As the _Enterprise _retreated, the Orion cruisers turned sedately and departed, content with their plunder.

**Somewhere**

_The Ba'Sugh was not large enough._

_Angrily pounding his way down the central corridor, Raâkîn imagined every footfall smashing onto Maâlîk's head, crushing his brother like a rotten melon, the bloody gore spattering against the deck plating and bulkheads. Each time, it felt good, ever so satisfying, to twist his heel into the remains, crunching the bone fragments amidst the grayish tissue._

_But each time he lifted his foot, Maâlîk was still there, his face intact, mocking the leader with an easy air of impudence, always waiting around a corner, always waiting for an opportunity to defy Raâkîn, always pressing the leader to the edge of the line before backing away, knowing that he had chipped away—ever so slightly—at Raâkîn's rightful authority, at Raâkîn's necessary authority._

_As the days wore on, sealed within a metallic coffin hurtling light-year after light-year into the darkest, coldest depths of space, Raâkîn could feel his power slipping away beneath the repeated effronteries of his brother. For even in the strict autocracy of the exiles, Raâkîn's authority was not limitless; and Maâlîk had become an expert at maneuvering just beyond those limits._

_And the others—Pêrsîs, Pûrâh, __Tûrêl; __Câîm, __Ruâx, and onward—were beginning to doubt their leader. __Raâkîn had been, and still was, the strongest; none of the exiles were foolish enough to challenge him in physical combat. But strength was only part of leadership among the exiles—a great leader also had to be the most intelligent, the most cunning._

_A great leader would not allow himself to be outmaneuvered by an insolent brat._

_His sharp ears detected the sound of an approaching person, but Raâkîn's furious pace did not slacken; for his nose also detected the exile, identifying it as Pêrsîs. She, at least, was no threat to him; Pêrsîs had long ago yoked her own future to that of Raâkîn. _

"_He argues with every command I give!" Raâkîn snarled, lashing out verbally with the hot fury of anger and frustration. Pêrsîs paused briefly, standing a pace away, but did not flinch. "He defies me in front of the others! Does he really think that he could do a better job of leading us? Everything he's done has only subjected us to more danger!" _

_Pêrsîs dropped her eyes in acknowledgement before speaking. "Some of them agree with what Maâlîk did," she replied, softly, having no difficulty identifying the subject of Raâkîn's ire. "They may be shortsighted," she hastened to add, "but Father himself used to say that 'It is humiliating to remain with our hands folded while others write history.'"_

"_The course that he proposes will lead to our deaths!" Raâkîn's lengthy blond locks flew about as he shook his head. "Have they forgotten how we've stayed alive all these years?"_

"_They believe that it is the struggle itself that will redeem us, Raâkîn."_

"_And our survival has not been a worthwhile struggle?" Raâkîn exhaled mightily. "Surviving on that cursed rock has been a far greater test of our greatness!"_

"_And it was your resolve that kept us together, and kept us alive," Pêrsîs responded. "But what of greater goals beyond the daily grind of survival? Many believe that we were little better than prisoners on that rock, and that Maâlîk liberated us."_

"_So be it!" Raâkîn cried out, tossing his arms upward with sudden exacerbation. "But our destiny lies ahead of us, in creating a new world, rather than behind us, in a fool's crusade to conquer an old one!"_

"'_The more we consider and observe the future and the development of a new humanity, the less we believe in the possibility or desirability of peace,"__ Pêrsîs quoted._

_Raâkîn's eyes narrowed into icy slits. "You agree with them," he spat out venomously._

"_How can you say that?" Pêrsîs asked softly, stepping back as if stung._

"_I can hear it in your voice." Emitting an air of disgust, __Raâkîn stepped aside through a hatchway, entering the private quarters of the Ba'Sugh's one-time master. As he expected, Persis followed him in._

"_Maalik's doing more than arguing with your commands," she whispered, quietly, despite the relative solitude of the room. "He's conspiring with others to remove you." There it was: the deed was done._

"_And how do you know this?" Raâkîn hissed suspiciously. If it were true—and he needed evidence, albeit little—this was his opportunity. But could he trust Pêrsîs?_

_Pêrsîs reached out, taking Raâkîn's hand in her own. "He told me," she answered, cautiously. "__Maâlîk__'s always wanted me.__ I knew he was planning something, so I let him think I wanted him as well." She ran her hands over __Raâkîn__'s muscular chest. "He said you're weak, that you're making all of us weak, that you're betraying Father's principles, that if Father were here, he'd choose Maâlîk to lead us." The words spilled out quickly._

_For the first time in days, __Raâkîn's thoughts were crystal clear. "I'm going to kill him."_

**Sector 010**

"What do you mean?" Archer's words thudded painfully in his own mind, beating his head from left to right as he fell into the desk chair. Colors and objects still swirled before him, forcing the captain to close his eyes as he sought to suppress the nausea; and as he felt the soft pressure of a hypospray discharging its contents into his neck, the world began to steady.

"We've checked the ship twice," Hoshi replied. "Nine crewmembers are uncounted for. Several eyewitnesses state that they saw the missing crew vanish in something resembling a transporter beam."

"Wait—who did?" Archer's memory was nearly black as he struggled to recall—anything.

"Easy, sir," the medical technician, Crewman Kazuri, intervened quickly . "We need to get you down to sickbay, sir."

"Oh." Archer stood up slowly, guided by Kazuri's hands. "Of course. T'Pol has the bridge."

"Sir, T'Pol's not—" Hoshi let the sentence die half-formed as the captain shuffled towards the door; she could notify Malcolm of his temporary command herself.

...

"We have a duty, Lieutenant!" Malcolm snapped at the younger woman, allowing his frustration to mix with umbrage at Hoshi's suggestion; pent-up anger and a need for vengeance warred within, fighting against cold-hearted judgment and dispassionate critique. "You can't seriously expect me to abandon our mission!"

"I'm _not _asking you to abandon our mission!" Hoshi shot back hotly, standing toe-to-toe before her superior officer. Having just checked on the captain's condition, the two had withdrawn themselves to a small waiting room off sickbay; but it scarcely seemed large enough to hold them. "And we do have a duty—to our _crewmates_!" Hoshi added furiously, as her own temper spiked upward.

"I know, Lieutenant!" Emitting a wretched groan, Malcolm rolled his head backward, lifting his face and closing his eyes as he struggled to bring his ire back under control; he focused on breathing deeply, and as the wave of fury passed, he was beset by a force of exhaustion. "I know, Hoshi," he said again, this time tiredly. He ran both hands through his hair, leaving the usually-precise strands in shambles. "But do you really believe that the Augments will wait around for us? There's many more lives at stake here. We _have _to stop the Augments before they kill more people."

Hoshi let out a slow breath. "Sir, all I'll say is this—I know what the captain would do."

"Damn you, Hoshi," Malcolm muttered, but little anger resided beneath the imprecation. "But we have no idea where the Orions are taking our people."

"No," Hoshi acknowledged. "But Soong spent ten years out here. He might know."

**Somewhere**

_Game. Set. Match._

_Oddly enough, despite the volumes of encyclopedias stored in the enhanced memory nodes of his brain, __Raâkîn did not know the origin of the quip._

_But he knew the meaning._

_There was little value in stealth; his prey would identify Raâkîn, well before he was within striking range. Surprise, then, would have to come through guise, through a charade of nonchalant normalcy, until Raâkîn was positioned to strike._

_The shorter exile was ahead of Raâkîn, tending to minor maintenance on a data relay, muttering half-words and phrases under his breath as he fiddled with a recalcitrant stem bolt. Without looking up, Maâlîk was no doubt aware of Raâkîn's presence; but Maâlîk did not flinch, treating the leader with the coldness of silent indifference._

_Raâkîn had calculated his attack in thorough detail, but as he entered the alcove, the exile reviewed it once more, scanning for any flaws, comparing his memory against the real-life terrain of the ad hoc battlefield. His optimum point was precisely set, like an X marking the spot; and as he reached it, Raâkîn calmly lifted a Klingon disruptor pistol, pointing it directly at the back of Maâlîk's head. _

_Now, as if sensing the gun, Maâlîk turned his head halfway. "What is it you want, Raâkîn?" he asked, his tone spurring careless disdain._

"_I know of your plans, Maâlîk," the leader bellowed, his voice dripping with revulsion. "I know that you have treason in your heart."_

_Maâlîk nodded once, then a second time; and slowly, he lifted his hands above his head, as if showing that he was unarmed. "Pêrsîs told you," he stated._

_At last, the games were done, the shadow-boxing over. "Yes," Raâkîn spat out, hurtling blackened bile to the deck plating. "She is not a traitor, like you!"_

_Slowly, nonchalantly, Maâlîk turned around, keeping his hands in the air. "Treason is in the eye of the beholder, my brother."_

_It sent a deepened sense of alarm rushing through Raâkîn. "What do you mean?" he growled, warring between anger and suspicion._

"_Is it treason to remove a traitor?" Maâlîk rejoined._

_And Raâkîn cursed himself, for he was an idiot._

_From behind, two other exiles stepped from the shadows, leveling disruptor rifles at their former leader, and Raâkîn's chest heaved with anguished fury. "Tûrêl," he said, catching the slightest glimpse over his shoulder. "Pûrâh." They were two of his most trusted, his closest friends in childhood, his staunchest allies in duty._

_He knew the cautionary story of Khan Noonien Singh, knew of the constant in-fighting and backstabbing; but in the blossom of his youth, Raâkîn had never believed that his siblings would abandon him. _

"_They only listen to me now," Maâlîk said, intense satisfaction in his voice. Haltingly, __Raâkîn__ lowered his pistol; and at a gesture from Maâlîk, the other two lowered their own weapons. _

_A sense of eerie calm fell upon __Raâkîn as he lifted his arms to the side, dropping the pistol to the deck plates as he held his hands outward; and he closed his eyes, rolling his head backward, barely flinching as the steel blade of a d'k'tahg sliced into him. Raâkîn's thoughts drifted away in a white haze as the pain seared through him, the serrated edges ripping into muscle and organ, turning his innards into a bloody mass that poured out, and Raâkîn gave a whispery smile; for in this last moment, he realized why it was destined to end this way._

"_Farewell, my brother," Maalik whispered, withdrawing the knife from Raâkîn's sundered body; and the corpse fell, hitting its knees before collapsing, face down, onto the deck._

_The Leader was dead; all hail the new Leader._

**Sector 010**

There was no silence aboard a starship.

Truth be told, silence was a deadly thing when sealed in a tritanium coffin in the deep confines of interstellar space. The noise—the constant thrums, the sudden whistlings, the howls and growls and shuddering vibrations—were the guarantors of survival amid the ravages of the universe.

Even now, as the prisoner sat cross-legged on the floor of the modified crew quarters, his eyes closed and his mind at ease, he could discern a plethora of distinct noises; each one playing its part in forming the sonata which so often faded into the background. Trapped as he was in a makeshift cell, the prisoner could sketch the movements in his mind, following the trembling _vibratos _and sliding _glissandos_, the pounding _strettos _and accelerating _scherzos_; the jarring _staccatos _and unbalanced _fugues_.

The _Enterprise _had gone into battle, but the other side had fired first; careful listening identified the precise tenor of Orion disruptors, followed by the disharmonious wail of a brutal assault, ranging from the deepened bass of lumbering engines to the screeching ululation of overloading circuitry. Together, they crafted a symphony of a battle gone wrong, a starship beaten and reeling, at the mercy of a greater foe.

The battle had ended, and the _Enterprise _was stricken; drifting in space, unable to hold its balance, the crew scrambling about to repair the clamor of unmelodious wounds before the shrieking reached critical.

But it mattered little to the prisoner in billet E-22. For even the harsh dissonance blended together, forming a smooth _adagio_ on which his mind drifted, spreading out across the immaterial specks of stellar dust that existed even here, light-years away from the closest star. He could feel the chill, but was not frozen; he could feel the harsh glow of radiation, but was not burnt; he could feel the tremors of the universe upon him, but did not quiver.

The prisoner's ears gave him a momentary warning when the disruption came, heralded by the heavy, angered footfalls of boots outside the door to his quarters; and the hatchway hissed open, almost expressing its own peevishness. Moving quickly, the prisoner scrambled to his feet, not quite securing his balance before the intruder was upon him, the prisoner's lapels gripped tightly in two fists, his nose recoiling from the hot breath that assaulted him.

"They took nine of our people!" Malcolm snarled angrily, pressing the prisoner into the opposing bulkhead with crashing force. "You set us up, Soong!"

Unflustered, Soong opted to reply with a smirk. "The Orions never used to harass Earth ships," he answered, his tone taunting the irate Starfleet officer. "It's a shame. You must've done something to upset them."

Malcolm slammed the prisoner into the bulkhead a second time. "How do I get them back, Soong?"

"Patience, Lieutenant," Soong _tsk_ed, intentionally misstating the officer's rank. "Haste makes waste, after all."

With a furious growl, Malcolm tossed the limp prisoner onto his bunk, but made no further movement towards him. "I have nine crewmates at stake, Soong," he rejoined, his voice grumbling with suppressed fury. "They may only be _flawed _and _imperfect _baseline humans, but I'm willing to risk your life to save them."

Soong's face slackened with mollification. "I have no dislike of your crew, Commander," he answered, with a rare air of honesty. "Why do you assume that I wouldn't be willing to help you rescue them?"

"I—" Malcolm's thoughts fumbled for a brief moment, weighing the doctor's answer, before opting to take it at face value. "So how _do _we get them back?"

"That depends," Soong replied, his voice slipping back into its sardonic taunt. "Who attacked you?"

"An Orion," Malcolm answered. "His name was—Vatis'Kish," he added, a little uncertainly.

Soong's face fell slightly. "My, my, you've certainly provoked the big boys, haven't you?"

Malcolm didn't flinch. "Where can we find him, Soong?"

"Vatis'Kish operates a trading facility in the Gamma Deuteron Ceti system," Soong answered, somewhat airily. "He'll no doubt process your people as slaves."

"Very well." Malcolm turned to leave, but was caught short by a punctuated statement from the prisoner.

"You're not planning to just charge in, are you?" Soong asked, with a hair-raising tone of pithiness. "You'll never get out."


	5. Chapter 4

_Author's note: With T'Pol still on Vulcan, a character substitution had to be made._

**Sector 010**

Chief Medical Officer's log, May 18, 2154. It is with a sense of shock that I am pleased to report that, although several crewmembers sustained serious injuries, no deaths occurred in our recent engagement with the Orions. Lieutenant Sato tells me that it's because of my skills as a physician…I, however, am more likely to attribute that mysterious force that protects starships named _Enterprise._

On a related note, I have released Captain Archer to limited duty following his concussion three days ago.

...

Six Starfleet officers and a Denobulan doctor stared at the stellar projection in the briefing alcove at the rear of the _Enterprise _bridge.

By now, the map was familiar to them; each crewmember had, at various points in the preceding days, taken time to better acquaint themselves with the neighborhood's cartography. Familiar systems no longer needed marking—there was Beta Rigel, straddling the border of sectors 010 and 011, scarcely a day ahead of the _Enterprise_'s present location; Deneva lay beyond, and in perspective, the Orion Hegemony sat to the left, its official territory easily doubled by the Syndicate's "sphere of influence," engulfing much of two full sectors.

And sitting firmly within Hegemony space—roughly eight light-years from Beta Rigel—lay the system designated Gamma Deuteron Ceti.

"So how do we get them out?" Hoshi asked skeptically, breaking the ice of silence.

"Getting them out?" Travis shook his head with an air of bewilderment. "How do we even get there? That post is a good five light-years inside Orion space. They'll light us up long before we reach port."

Phlox nodded as he followed along. "And you don't think that they'll allow us through? I mean no offense, Lieutenant—but you said that you've never dealt first-hand with the Orions."

"That's alright, Phlox," Travis replied, smiling faintly. "I'm working from second-hand information—other Earth freighters who operated out this way. But they've all said pretty much the same thing."

"If you don't mind, Lieutenant," Malcolm countered, entering the conversation abruptly. "I have—some background—with the Orions. From before I transferred into Starfleet," he hastened to add. His crewmates knew that he had been involved with Earth's Intelligence Directorate, though not in what capacity. He shifted his gaze to Phlox. "Travis is right. The Syndicate watches everything—they'll know the moment we cross the border. They'll probably know _before _we cross the border."

"But don't they allow other races in?" Verena queried, scrunching her brow tight.

"They do," Malcolm answered flatly. "But only some. The Hegemony—the Syndicate," he clarified, although the two were tighter than the Barbary pirates and the Ottoman Beys, "has right-of-passage agreements with their trading partners. Most others are allowed in, since they bring trade and aren't a threat." Malcolm shrugged his shoulders ruefully. "We don't bring any trade, and _are _a potential threat. They have no reason to let us in."

"They had no reason to let us escape," Verena countered. Though the smallest person present, the Nuristani woman pressed herself forward. "If we're a potential threat, why would they let us go?"

"I see where you're going," Smitty chimed in suddenly, rubbing the stubble on his neck as he spoke. "And the Orions are slavers, right? So why would they take ten of our crew—but _only _ten?"

"They must've left us for a reason." Archer spoke slowly as thoughts struggled to form in his mind. "Does Vatis'Kish _want _us to come after him?"

"To see if we would," Hoshi added, following through. "To see what we'd do."

"Yeah," Travis adjoined gruffly. "Humans and Orions haven't had much interaction yet. Fact is, the Orions can't know for certain if we're a threat or not, and this could be their way of finding out."

"It's a rather ghastly way of finding out," Phlox muttered.

"So they abduct members of our crew, to see if we go after them?" The captain's voice was acerbic. "That's a little Pavlovian, isn't it?"

"And yet, what choice do we have?" Malcolm countered gloomily. "There's no real question about what we're going to do so, sir. We're going after our missing crew."

"So they ring the bell, and we charge after it." It was a statement, not a question, from the captain. "We charge head-first into their nest."

"Perhaps there's more to it," Smitty countered as his mind raced through logic trees. "Going after our crew—that's only a threshold issue here. What matters is _how._ That's what matters here."

"In which case, they'll let us," Malcolm added, following the strand of thought. "It's a necessary prerequisite for getting to the _real _question."

"Exactly!" Verena exclaimed, her face beaming with the glow of realization. "We can walk right up to their front doorstep!"

"But we don't know this for certain!" Malcolm protested. "Are we willing to bet the ship, the crew—and our _mission_—on it?"

At the head of the table, Archer broke into a smile. "I am," he responded, flashing a gleam in his eye. "If the Orions want to know what we're made of—let's show them. And Malcolm," he added, dropping his voice to a quiet murmur, "risk _is _part of our business. Unless you have a better idea?"

Malcolm shook his head silently. The expression on his face still expressed discomfort, but it was the captain's decision to make.

"So." Smitty paused to cough, turning his head to spit out a wad of phlegm. "We're betting that we can get to Gamma Deuteron," he stated, ignoring the alarmed look from Phlox. "What happens when we get there?"

"I don't suppose we can just break them out?" Travis suggested, somewhat facetiously.

Malcolm answered anyway. "I doubt it," he replied, shaking his head. "We won't know for certain until we get there, and do some surveillance, but it's unlikely."

"And that's only half the problem," Travis added. "If we did break them out, the Orions could easily guess that it was us—we'd need quite a head start to get away safely."

"But how else can we recover them?" Smitty pressed. "We can't seriously try to _buy _them."

"I certainly _hope _you're not serious," Phlox added, somewhat aghast.

"We don't have the hard currency," Malcolm observed. "So it's a moot point."

Archer bit his lower lip as he frowned. "It's not completely moot. If the Orions are basing future plans on how we react—well, we have to take that into account." He stumbled over the wording, the thoughts still cloudy in his mind. "If we buy those ten back, won't we encourage the Orions to abduct more humans in the future?"

"With all due respect, sir," Malcolm rejoined, keeping his tone apologetically formal, "the Orions can already do that. Earth doesn't have the strength to prevent it."

"And if we break them out, the Orions will come after us anyway?" Despite the pessimism, Hoshi's attitude was still upbeat. "There has to be another option here."

"When you're facing a foe of superior ability, you discourage him by making combat too costly," Smitty observed thoughtfully, stroking his stubble. "Is there any place that we can hit the Orions?"

"What if we kill the prisoners?"

A cold silence filled the alcove as six pairs of eyes turned to stare at Malcolm.

"No, I'm on to something here!" Malcolm's face lit up. "Phlox, how much biomatter would you need to simulate the remains of ten people?"

"It depends quite a bit on how they were supposedly killed," Phlox replied slowly, taking time to run figures through his head. "I'd have to raid the food supplies, but I can do it."

"Right!" Malcolm exclaimed, his usual composure slipping into eager excitement. "And there's your wedge for the future, Captain—if the Orions abduct humans, we'll simply kill the captives. It eliminates any profit for them!"

"But if we 'kill' the captives, Vatis'Kish will still assume that it was us," Travis countered. "How do we get away?"

"They'll assume it was us, but they won't know for sure," Verena pointed out.

"And they won't be expecting it," Malcolm answered. "They'll have to weigh their response."

"There's still the matter of breaking in, finding our crewmates, and pulling them out." It was a statement of fact from Smitty, not a negative opinion. "And the moment a roving search-and-rescue team leaves the _Enterprise_, the Orions are bound to notice."

"The actual rescue—" Malcolm halted momentarily, waiting for his thoughts to catch up with his words. "We just won't know until we get there. But we can evade the surveillance by inserting the team via another ship. And then, if the Orions want to search the _Enterprise_—they won't find the captives."

"Malcolm, we only _have _one ship," Archer replied patiently.

"No, sir…follow this," Malcolm answered earnestly. "We've already swung past Beta Rigel, right?" The _Enterprise_'s looping course was bringing them close to the Rigelian system. "We can drop the team off there. It'll be an easy matter to arrange transport back to Deneva. I can…get my hands on a nondescript ship there."

"And we have the _Enterprise _herself act completely normal," Smitty noted. "We go in, talk to the Orions, negotiate—throw a fit, and leave."

Hoshi was less hopeful. "But if we don't have the hard currency to buy our crewmembers, then how can we purchase a ship?"

"I have—an idea for that," Malcolm replied, his earnestness disappearing in the carefully-chosen words. "It'll cost us…just not up front."

Archer finally gave in to the urge to raise an eyebrow. "What's the idea, Malcolm?"

"I can't really say, sir," Malcolm answered cautiously.

Archer blinked slowly. "What'll it cost us?" he asked, several moments later.

"I don't really know, sir," Malcolm answered.

"I could order you to tell me," Archer added, _sotto voce._

"You could," Malcolm acknowledged. "But…you might have to trust me on this one, sir."

The two men leveled a gaze at one another for several seconds before the captain spoke. "Alright, Malcolm," he stated, trying to mask the remaining clouds in his mind with an air of resignation. "Who do you want for the team?"

"Myself, of course." Malcolm glanced around the attendees. "Travis; I need someone who can pilot an alien ship. I can take O'Connell and Kossovskii, and leave Rahimi to watch tactical. Any more would draw too much attention."

"Very well." Archer sighed inwardly, wondering if his own judgment was reliable. "Travis, adjust our course for Deneva, then take off for some rest. Malcolm, make your plans. Hoshi, Verena—check the database for _anything _that can help us pretend to negotiate with Vatis'Kish. Smitty—we're not crossing the border until the ship is ready."

The engineer _harrumphed _lightly. "Don't worry about that, Cap'n. I'll have her purring like a tribble."

**Gamma Deuteron**** Ceti**

{May 21}

Safidi Hadiya—Crewman, Second Class1—could feel the turbulence even before she awoke, keeping her eyes clenched shut in desperation against the waves of vertigo crashing through her head. Dimly, she was aware of something grasping her about the waist, carelessly shaking her into wakefulness as her limbs flopped around and her head snapped back and forth, sending bolts of fire through her body.

Raggedly, she gasped for air, inhaling with stuttered bursts as she choked on the caustic air. It burned her nose, it burned her throat, it assaulted her lungs, but she had to breathe; and each gasping breath became easier as the softest tissue was eaten away, and the fiery pain dulled into that of over-burdened nerve endings.

As her head rolled forward, finally staying at rest, Safidi risked opening her eyes; and at first she thought it was a childhood dream, for the face before her eerily resembled an ogre from pre-War films. The meaty, green face was far larger than her own, and it wore some sort of leathery skullcap; below was a chest broader than a full-sized Denobulan musk ox, and given her own height above what she perceived to the be the ground, Safidi intuited the presence of two tree-trunk legs beneath it.

"You are now the property of the Orion Syndicate!" The giant shook her again, less severely this time, as if to emphasize his possession of her. "Break the rules, and you will suffer. Follow the rules, and you will suffer less."

Her head still slumping forward, Safidi bobbed it slightly upward, as if in acknowledgement; and the blurry world spun around her again as the Orion moved, his heavy feet unheard amid the torrent of voices. The verbal uproar assailed her hearing with a dozen different languages, the harsh bellows of the Orion slave masters and the desperate cries of their captives, some pleading for mercy and others hurling epitaphs at the ever-present green-skinned hulks standing guard.

Within moments, Safidi felt herself falling to the ground, flung to the floor like a piece of refuse; and she rolled over, her body curled in agony, trying to ignore the universal odor of bodily waste that surrounded her. A familiar, sharp _bzzz _sounded behind her, giving her an unsteady sense of relief; the ionized bars may have sealed her in, but they also sealed her captor out.

Struggling with vertigo, Safidi crawled to her hands and knees, adding her own acidic bile to the stains on the hardened concrete floor; it disgorged her sickness, clearing both her mind and gut. Gratefully, she looked up, taking stock of where she was.

She was in a holding cage, one not made for comfort; on either side of her were transparent walls, reinforced with metallic bars, which revealed her neighbors to be an alien of unknown ancestry and another human, a member of the _Enterprise _crew. Safidi pounded the palm of her hand against the barrier, hoping to draw her crewmate's attention; but he was unconscious, or sick, or both, and did not respond.

Spent by the effort, Safidi sank back down, slouching against the back wall of her cell. There was little she could do to free herself, except to wait patiently for Captain Archer and the _Enterprise_.

And she had no doubt that they would come.

...

The _Enterprise_'s transporter alcove, normally left empty, had temporarily become the hottest location on the starship.

"Cap'n," Smitty observed in greeting as Archer arrived, bringing with him Dr. Soong and trailed by two noncoms that could charitably be described as "bruisers." The three Starfleeters were adorned in their standard uniforms—their task was to draw attention, not evade it—but Soong wore a ratty olive-green jacket, dug from some unknown corner of the ship's storage.

"Sir," Hoshi added, nodding to her captain. "Don't worry about the _Enterprise_, Captain. We'll take good care of her."

"I have no worries about that, Hoshi," Archer replied, flashing a warm smile at the younger woman. "Protecting the _Enterprise _is more important than retrieving the landing team. If you're in danger—"

"I know, sir," Hoshi rejoined, flashing a light-hearted smile of her own. "'If we're in danger, I'm ordered to leave the landing party and save the ship.' I've heard it a hundred times, Captain." It was an exaggeration, but only slightly.

"I'll keep the injectors primed, Cap'n," Smitty added. His gaze remained downward, focusing on the transporter controls before him. "Is there anything else before you leave?"

"One thing," Archer answered. "Phlox?" The physician was the final person present, and at his summons, Phlox stepped forward; as he raised a nanoprobe injector towards the tender skin of Soong's neck, the human flinched backward. "It's a transponder," Archer answered to the unspoken question.

Soong gave the physician an evil glare, but stood still as the small unit was injected. "I don't suppose I have much choice," he grumbled, scratching at the insertion point. "I think they used to call this 'assault and battery.'"

"You know what?" Archer replied, somewhat flippantly, as the two noncoms steered Soong onto the transporter platform. The captain followed them up as he spoke. "I don't really care. Smitty—keep the engines warm. When it's time to leave, I suspect we'll need all the speed we can get. Energize."

The four humans disappeared into the shimmering transporter beam.

...

"I am a man of many interests," Vatis'Kish acknowledged as he spread his arms expansively, inviting the _Enterprise_ party to sit on the soft cushions behind the low-level table. The inner room was sumptuously decorated with sensuous appeal, more resembling an Ottoman harem than a business center, and Archer couldn't help but shake his head bemusedly.

In the center of the lush carpet—soft enough to trigger random thoughts of going barefoot—was an inlaid circle colored in carmine; like-colored rays radiated outward toward the circular walls. Heavy drapes hung downward, segmenting into a dozen sections, each one framing a display of etched glass and soft, yellow light; the etchings were highlighted in hues of ruby and emerald.

"My hospitality is renowned, Captain," Vatis'Kish continued as his guests tentatively lowered themselves to the floor. They sank into the supple pillows with surprising grace, finding an unexpected underlying firmness. The gentleness sought to alleviate their every ache and weary muscle, and the tender expulsion of air wafted around them with an ephemeral aroma reminiscent of jasmine and clary sage.

"I thought you said that you were part of the Orion Syndicate?" Archer questioned as the huge bulk of the Orion settled down in front of the captain, across the finely-carved bench of rosewood. The great size of the green alien was completely absorbed by a single pillow.

"I am a member of the Syndicate," Vatis'Kish acknowledged without hurry. "But my affairs make me a bit of a…_renaissance _man, if you will. I earn my living in various ways—buying, selling, trading."

Soong almost snorted; he knew that no trader could outfit such a luxurious suite through legitimate business only. "And plundering," the doctor added, speaking up beside the captain.

"When the situation calls for it." Vatis'Kish bobbed his head in recognition. His bass voice, although lowered in volume, spread throughout the room. "But piracy is a short-lived business. _Commerce _is the blood of life; the opportunity to meet new people, forge new ties…" he held his hands outward before the humans. "Make lasting friendships."

"We've dealt with your people before," Archer replied dubiously, repeating his earlier skepticism. "They weren't exactly interested in making friendships."

"Those were other Orions, Captain; they may be my brethren, but they are woefully ignorant of the civilized ways." Vatis'Kish picked up a bottle of blue liquid. "Would you judge me according to the actions of my cousins?"

"Of course not," Archer replied automatically. He felt slightly addled by the lush stimuli, but Soong was positively relishing in it.

Vatis'Kish tilted the bottle at a height, allowing the liquid to cascade downward in open air before swirling into waiting goblets. As the liquid flowed, it caught the glint of soft lighting; its hue shifted between indigo and ultramarine, with detectable highlights of azure. "This…" Vatis'Kish said as the flow slowed to a dribble. "Is from a planet in the Gorn Hegemony."

Archer's expression tightened. "The Gorn?" he asked, concerned. "Who are they?"

Vatis'Kish waved the question off. "The less said about them, the better," he replied nonchalantly. "But they do brew the finest Meridor in the five systems. It's quite expensive," he added, lifting his crystal goblet in the air. "But what is the point of wealth if you don't enjoy it?"

"Indeed," Archer murmured as he traded a surreptitious glance with the doctor. Soong gave a slight nod, indicating that it was safe to drink the liquid. Archer took a sip and let it rest in his mouth for several seconds before swallowing. It tasted remotely like liquid freesia, with a warm aftertaste of spicy anise. "It's delicious," he said, unbidden.

"I'm pleased," Vatis'Kish replied. He downed his own goblet in a single dram before placing it back on the bench. "You have acquired something of a reputation, Captain," he added, offering suggestive curiosity. The big man looked at Archer with wide eyes, as if hoping for a story of derring-do.

"Favorable, I hope," the captain hedged in response. The Orion's interest unsettled him.

"Come now, Captain, don't be modest." The privateer laid both hands on the table, open and palm-up. "You're wanted in the Klingon Empire. The Orion Syndicate has a price on your head. The Romulans want you killed on sight, but I suppose you wouldn't know anything about them."

"I'm quick on my feet," Archer rejoined. His mind felt sluggish as he tried to catalogue the various hints. He had barely interacted with the Orions; why would they have a price on his head? The Klingons—_well, they're just unpleasant_. And he could barely even place the Romulans; they were as unfamiliar as the Gorn. "You said you had something important to discuss with us," Archer added, pressing for business before his mind became too addled to reason.

"Of course," Vatis'Kish replied, smiling broadly. "It _is _business that brings us here, after all. But I've always believed it to be poor custom to discuss business without properly entertaining my guests." Before Archer could object, the Orion lifted a hand and snapped his fingers; three figures entered from a recessed doorway.

The sight took Archer's breath away even as he noted that Orions are, after all, completely green.

The three Orion women moved to the center of the room with a raw gracefulness that promised animalistic passion and feral delight. They were clad only in the scantiest of clothing; a bejeweled casing delicately concealed their ample bosoms, and a mere strap of silky fabric crossed their hips and down betwixt their legs. Glimmering veils hung behind them, draped low on their posteriors.

The thrum of music entered the room, surrounding the guests with alien rhythms and exotic melodies played by unheard-of instruments and written by unknown composers. The women began moving to the beat, lifting first one arm and then the other; and moments later, they were undulating wildly with vigoroso abandon, matching every movement with the dulcet paean of fervor.

As the dancers moved, their gyrations growing faster and faster, their bodies twisted and whipped about frenetically. The rip-cord lines of their abdomens flexed repeatedly, showing off the precision-toned muscles beneath; lean muscles in their bare legs clenched and unclenched in a robust display of power and beauty. Their arms flew above their heads in synchronized ecstasy.

Vatis'Kish moved beside the captain, and now leaned forward, talking over the pulsating music. "What do you think?" he asked, his tone warm and carefree.

"I can't think," Montag replied absently. The _Enterprise _security guard couldn't shift his eyes away from the amorous eroticism of the dancers.

Vatis'Kish drifted closer to Archer. "And what about you, Captain?"

Archer took a second to answer. "I'd have to agree with my companion," he replied at last, as his eyes followed the nearly-rapturous twisting and dancing of the women.

"I think she likes you," Vatis'Kish whispered above the captain's ear. He pointed to the center dancer, who suddenly seemed to have eyes only for Archer. Her passionate dance became only for him, and Archer swore that he could detect her sweet perfume from where he sat.

"Her name is Navaar," Vatis'Kish continued, placing the words directly into Archer's right ear. "She's the most experienced of the three. Did you know that they're sisters? I purchased them at a trading post you once visited."

Archer nodded dumbly as the amatory assoluta continued. It took no effort to imagine the raw cossetry wrapped around him in ardent heat.

"Incredible, aren't they?" Vatis'Kish's voice flowed with syrupy sweetness. "They can make you forget most of your troubles. Of course, creatures such as these come with troubles of their own. But women are the same throughout the galaxy, aren't they?"

Moments later, the dancing came to an end, and the women's movements returned to animated stillness. Their bodies still seemed to throb with licentious energy, and their skin glistened with steamy passion. As they turned and left the room, their posteriors shifting with lascivious delight, Navaar gave the captain an evocative final glance.

"There, now," Vatis'Kish commented as the last woman left the room. "Now shall we talk business?"

...

_Tûrêl let his heavy mug clatter on the metallic table as he sat it down, intentionally faking the disorientation of inebriation._

_Yes, he had secretly doubted their new leader—the same leader whom he had helped install, betraying and sacrificing his closest brother for the promises of rediscovered glory that flowed from __Maâlîk's lips. The vision of their triumphant return was inspiring and powerful, moving the exile with a heretofore unknown strength of hope, but it was Raâkîn who had kept them alive all these years; Raâkîn who had mastered the minutiae of crop rotation in the hydroponics units, Raâkîn who had adjudicated their disputes with a cool and rational mind, Raâkîn who understood the machinations of raw survival._

_And then, there was Maâlîk—ever the firebrand, ever the malcontent, ever the dreamer believing in greater things for the humiliated exiles. It was Maâlîk who told them that survival was not life—and it was Maâlîk, not Raâkîn, who remembered the words of their father: "It is better live a day as a lion than 100 years as a sheep."_

_Maâlîk had sent Tûrêl to Gamma Deuteron__Ceti to gather information, and watch for ripe targets for the exiles to plunder. The mission, up until now, had been a frustrating endeavor, causing Tûrêl to question the wisdom of his dispatch. _

_But then he saw a sign—a sign confirming that their father would have approved of Maâlîk's usurpation of Raâkîn. In the darkened byways of the bazaar, he had seen Arik Soong._

_His father was free, and returning to his children._

_...  
_

From the exterior, the Orion post revealed no sign of the opulence within.

The trading establishment stretched on for kilometer after kilometer, sprawling across open plains and zigzagging through rocky canyons, looking little like the sector-wide hub it was; instead, it resembled a decaying industrial wasteland, with boxy structures and overhead tunnels made of beaten sheet metal, covered with the grit and dust of the polluted air.

At several stretches—mostly in the open areas where the structure rose high above semi-level ground—extensive landing pads were laid out, their surfaces kept clear of grit by a low-strength isomagnetics field. At any given time, over a hundred ships were docked, a montage of auxiliary craft serving the larger vessels in orbit and the durable interstellar travelers capable of sub-orbital flight.

In amidst the array of craft landed a sleek, arrowhead-shaped corsair registered under a Coridian flag with the name _Hawke._


	6. Chapter 5

**Gamma Deuteron**** Ceti**

Her eyes were barely open as Safidi's ears duly registered the clanking of the cell door opening, the harsh metallic sounds half-muted and delayed as the signals slogged through the mush of her besieged neural pathways. She was awake, but barely so; her mind was running on the bare minimum, shutting down and protecting every delicate section it could in a faltering battle against the onslaught.

She knew, only semi-consciously, that she was simultaneously running a fever yet shivering with cold; her lungs felt like reddened coals inside, and only the emptiness of her stomach saved Safidi from the indignity of explosively voiding herself.

Firm clamps took a hold of her shoulders, and Safidi felt herself again lifting into the air, at the rough mercies of what she presumed to be the oversized Orion processor; she closed her eyes as the world spun, the indistinct montage of shape and color swirling around in blurry waves. She felt the shudders as the massive being walked, the shock of each footfall rocketing through her abused body and triggering new bouts of dizziness.

Dimly, she heard the chatter of voices around here, a dozen alien tongues awkwardly striving to speak a similar language, some whispering in conspiracy and others shouting in urgency. In the background, artificial tones sounded, signaling some unknown importance; and as they came to a stop, Safidi could feel the welcoming heat of an old-fashioned spotlight.

The processor shifted his grip, clasping his paws around Safidi's waist and hoisting her into the air; easing her eyes open in somnolent slits, she saw the motley collection of bidders, many of them half-cloaked beneath protective mantles of dirty cloth and shrouds. A handful went bareheaded, and the human fixed her gaze on them, seeking to stabilize her balance with the set points in space; she recognized one as a Tellarite, another as a Rigelian, but her recollection found no match for the remaining beings.

Behind Safidi, the processor chuckled with bass rumble as he turned her to each side, giving the bidders a complete view of the merchandise. A howl of computer clicks ensued as bids rushed in; and after several moments, when the frantic pace failed to subside, the Orion spoke to Safidi. "You're doing well," he growled gleefully, his caustic breath burning her ear.

The bidding continued for several more seconds before a harsh buzzer signaled the close of biding. A disappointed murmur swept the crowd of buyers as a porcine Tellarite chuckled with satisfaction, and the processor broke into a huge grin as he lowered Safidi back to his eye level. "Three million six!" he laughed, as though the human should be excited. "Not even my last _wife_ sold for that much!" The Orion continued to laugh, shaking Safidi for emphasis.

…

Across the room, a trio of anonymous aliens sidestepped their way through the crowd of bidders. Cloaked in heavy cloth, with cowls shadowing their faces, the three appeared like the others; the flotsam of the galaxy, engaging in the scorned—but profitable—business conducted here, in the recessed depths of the trading post. Slave traders abhorred recognition.

"Commander." Perri O'Connell's voice was piped into Malcolm's ear by a slender wire, attached to a small transceiver buried in his hair. "All of the captives have that device on their neck."

Malcolm had noted a few, but now he paid more attention, daring to step closer to the temporary holding cages set along the rear of the room. Keeping his head down, beneath the gaze of the omnipresent Orion hulks, he moved within a comfortable distance; no humans were in the bunch, but the alien captives all sported a round, metallic disk affixed to the side of their neck, roughly the size of an old-fashioned coin.

They were immediately familiar for anyone who had spent time around the Orions.

"They're neurolytic restraints," Malcolm whispered, barely moving his lips as he spoke; a microphone attached to his throat amplified the vibrations and transmitted them to O'Connell and Kossovskii. "If a guard triggers the restraint, it induces a debilitating seizure in the captive. We'll have to find a way to block the signal."

"I'm on it," Kossovskii grunted. Lost amid the crowd, several paces away, the large Slavic man was already fiddling with a piece of equipment inside his cloak. "It'll take a little while, although. The signal's not hard to crack—but not getting caught first is more difficult."

"Commander." O'Connell's voice hissed in Malcolm's ear with a twist of suspicion. "Do the Orions sell their own people?"

Keeping his face covered, Malcolm turned to look at the front podium as a scantily-clad, lithesome Orion woman sauntered out, unabashedly showing off her body for the pleasure of the bidders. With a seductive twist of her hips, she led herself up to the platform, thrusting herself forward for sale. "Only the women," Malcolm voiced back, barely making a sound. "Orion women are used as…sex slaves."

…

Appearances were everything as the captain and his companions made their way back to the beam-in location, slowly weaving their way amid the crowded bazaars and recreational facilities. If they left too easily, the Orions would grow suspicious; but if they tried too hard, the Orions could detain them.

_Frustration and resignation_, Archer repeated to himself as he casually stepped around something that looked like a moving rock. _Purposeful but inept._

"You knew the Orions were operating out here," the captain said, musingly, as he walked alongside Soong. It was more of an observation than an accusation. "You knew that they might abduct members of my crew."

"You knew as well, Captain," Soong responded, somewhat stiffly. "You can't claim that I withheld it from you."

Archer couldn't. "You know, the Orions are probably hunting for the Augments," the captain replied, changing his tact. "If we find them first, we can protect them."

"They can protect themselves." Soong rolled his eyes in disgust. "They don't need someone riding in to the rescue every time they stub a toe."

"That's right," Archer replied, borrowing a moment to think as they slowed through a thicket of alien beings. "But that also makes them dangerous."

Soong's ire began to flare. "They're no more dangerous than you or I!" he shot back, keeping his voice low to avoid the inevitable surveillance. "They have the same nature as you or I! Their wants, their needs, their ambitions and inhibitions—are the same as your _own, _Captain."

"How can you say that?" Archer stumbled slightly, nearly tripping as he missed a step. "You and I haven't stolen Klingon vessels!"

"Captain, did it ever occur to you that they only need the Klingon ship because _you're _hunting them?" Soong hissed noisily, venting his indignation without raising his voice. "Don't you see that _you _put this in motion? And for what? Is their existence a _crime_?"

"They're dangerous," Archer retorted, keeping his head low as they walked. "We can't let them—"

"The only thing they threaten is your sense of superiority, _Captain_!" Coming to a stop, Soong turned to face Archer. "You would have these _humans _condemned to embryonic purgatory, not alive but not quite dead, without the right to even be born, all because of what others did? They have to live their lives on the run, hiding at every turn, harassed and hunted, all because of the contents of their _blood_?

Soong's derision was evident in his tone. "Do yourself a favor, Captain," he offered scornfully. "Turn your ship around. Go home. Leave them alone to live their lives in peace."

Archer didn't budge. "I'm going to find them, Doctor, whether you help me or not."

…

The floor plating nearly rippled with the force of the explosion.

"Report!" Vatis'Kish bellowed even as he staggered to his feet, lifting his bulk with surprisingly agility from low-lying cushions.

"Boss!" One of his Orion retainers barked back from across the control room. "Interior grids are reporting a breached power conduit, down in the lower levels!"

_The lower levels? _Vatis'Kish didn't even pause to think. "How long ago did the human ship leave?" he snapped back, checking his own recall for safe measure.

"One _unut _ago!" The answer came from Khali'Haas.

"And their landing party—"

"We watched them every moment, Boss. They never got close to those conduits, and every member returned to their ship."

"Boss!" The shouted alarm came from the first retainer. "Guards are reporting that the slaves are loose! The restraints don't appear to be functioning!"

_One more item to verify. _"And the human captives—"

"We confirmed them visually after the _Enterprise _left, Boss."

"Go down to the holding cells," Vatis'Kish ordered to Khali'Haas. "I don't care about the rest of the slaves—find the humans."

…

Great clouds of smoke, billowing outward from the thunderous explosion, quickly cloaked the instant fracas breaking out across the lower levels of the trading complex. Panicked traders running one way, then another, sometimes in misshapen circles as they sought self-preservation by fleeing the scene; confused merchants, caught in the wrong place, unaccustomed to such violence; and everywhere, the massive Orion guards were swinging old-fashioned clubs, seeking to restore order through old-fashioned infliction of unconsciousness.

From the rear of the temporary cell, Safidi rushed forward, shaking off the vestiges of illness as adrenaline coursed through her blood; her senses coming alert, her mind clicking into high gear, she processed her change of circumstances with the minimum of fuss. _The explosion was likely set off by an _Enterprise _rescue team. And they wouldn't have triggered the explosion until—_she reached a single finger forward tentatively, testing the metallic bars for ionization—_until they deactivated the security measures._

Safidi slammed her shoulder into the barred door, oblivious to the surge of pain shooting down her arm, but it did not budge; and in the second, as she wheeled around quickly, preparing to hit it harder, two other prisoners in the cage were already bull-rushing the door, slamming it open. She paused, scarcely, to catch their eye in acknowledgement; but the two unknown beings were already gone, charging out into the smoke and fury.

Running through the door, Safidi slammed into the gut of an Orion guard and bounced backward, catching her balance against the cage. With no sense of panic, the green giant lifted his control pad and pushed a button.

But Safidi felt no assault from her neurolytic restraint.

"Slaves are loose! Slaves are loose!" the guard bellowed, his voice traveling like a foghorn in the chaos. Safidi didn't wait around any longer; she disappeared between a pair of brawling Tellarites, making her way to the lower cells.

…

"Slaves are loose! Slaves are loose!" the guard bellowed, his voice baying louder than the din; it was the chaos that Malcolm needed, and he threaded his way purposefully through the commotion, stepping lightly amid the frantic mob. Somewhere in the fracas, he knew, O'Connell and Kossovskii were doing the same; they would rendezvous at the lower cages, exchanging their bags of radiated biomatter for their missing comrades, and then blend in with the mad dash fleeing the scenes.

Unless, by some bizarre fluke, he was caught.

Malcolm felt himself flying backwards through the air, ripped from his feet by a massive paw. It pulled him overhead, his body clearing the mass of fleeing beings underneath before turning him in midair, bringing him face-to-face with the largest Orion he had ever seen.

_Shit_, Malcolm thought, even as he ran options through his mind; fumbling for the miniature disruptor pistol hidden beneath his robes, he realized that it was squashed beneath the Orion's finger.

Without warning, Malcolm went flying through the air again, freed from the grasp of the Orion. Falling painfully upon something that resembled a living rock, he rolled to his feet.

Another being had intervened.

Clad in a stained, ragged cloak similar to his own, Malcolm could only make out the basic outlines of a humanoid, one perhaps a little taller than himself; but Malcolm's jaw dropped in astonishment as his rescuer leapt into a vicious, spinning kick, elevating a booted foot to the Orion's breastbone and landing a blow with an audible crack. The guard, gasping in surprise and pain, keeled over backward, landing on an unfortunate Rigelian trader.

Malcolm's rescuer turned, for a moment, to meet the commander's eyes; and even in the shadow of the cloak, Malcolm could see that the face was indisputably human.

...

"Boss." The gruff voice of Khali'Haas was loud and clear, despite relying on handheld communicators. "I've found all nine humans. Their remains, at least."

Vatis'Kish absorbed with information with skepticism. "What do you mean, their remains?" he demanded, watching for a trap.

"Nine lumps of biomatter, Boss. All match for human DNA. It has to be them."

_So it does, _Vatis'Kish thought, but it failed to reassure him. He would have a doctor confirm it later, after the riot was subdued; but it was almost irrelevant. _If it was the humans behind the riot—and how, but who else could it be? And did they really kill their own people?—_then he had underestimated them. And that rarely, if ever, happened.

He hadn't expected that.

…

Smugglers and "illicit traders" have one thing in common: they flee the scene of a riot, as quickly as possible. In the half-hour following the break-out of the slave riot, seventeen different ships departed from the trading post, including three Coridian corsairs.


	7. Chapter 6

**Kappa-2 Monoceros**

**The Borderlands**

{Eleven years previously}

"_It was a quiet morning, the town covered over with darkness and at ease in bed. Summer gathered in the weather, the wind had the proper touch, the breathing of the world was long and warm and slow. You had only to rise, lean from your window, and know that this indeed was the first real time of freedom of living, this was the first morning of summer…"_

_Pûrâh sighed, quietly, as he set the novel down beside him, placing it gently on the handmade settee which he had crafted during the long, cold, and bitterly dark winter. He had spent many nights—there were no true "days" in winter—with little more than a knife and hatchet, trimming the sapling bark and fashioning notches in hardened branches; lashed together with hemp and covered with a hand-sewn mattress, stuffed full of the downy fluff he had collected the previous summer from the woolly oxen treading the barren plains to the north._

_Of course, the children's home in exile was not lacking in industry; it would have been a relatively simple matter for Pûrâh to have fabricated the low-slung couch from reinforced alloys and machine-crafted cushions. Or, if he had pleaded his case with strong reason and logic, Father may have been willing to barter for a couch during one of his periodic trips to the Orion border._

_But what, Pûrâh thought, would be the point of that? What was the point of having something? No, it was the creative effort itself that was the reward: the resulting object was merely a side-effect, something that more often than not simply took up space. He had, through study and practice, taken his need and produced it for himself. He had mastered his need in a way that buying a commodity never could._

_And the bleakness of winter had passed as a flash, until the first rays of the star's light crept above the horizon, signaling the dawning spring and the rebirth of the planet of their exile. Soon, the light would be a constant companion, reddening slightly as it dipped towards the horizon, but never disappearing until the brutal gusts of the winter winds once again swept downward from the northern barrens._

_As the warm breeze drifted through his open window, Pûrâh inhaled it gently, teasing out the different aromas with the enhanced receptors of his nose. There were the okiense blossoms flowering on the leaves of the nivellea trees, and the microscopic pollen of galeomma; the rich, and occasionally rotting, odors of thawing topsoil; and most importantly, the smell of roasting meat wafting across from the fire pit. _

**Sector 010**

Captain's Log, May 25, 2154. The _Enterprise _has rendezvoused with the _Hawke. _Commander Reed reports that he detected no Orion surveillance craft following him. Our little ruse appears to have been successful; at least, the deception lasted long enough to get us away safely.

Dr. Phlox reports that the nine abducted crewmembers all require several days of observation and treatment before returning to duty.

The screeching wail of the ship's alarms sent Archer catapulting to his feet, moving forward with pure inertia as he exited his ready room, crossed the meter-long corridor outside, and burst onto the _Enterprise _bridge.

"Report!" Archer snapped loudly, projecting his voice over the siren, as his eyes and ears automatically scanned the bridge. Information poured in quickly, appraising him of the situation; the specific warbling tone of the alarms indicated a clearly-hostile vessel, and the bridge was populated with a mixture of primary and relief crew.

"Sir, Klingon bird-of-prey approaching!" Neda Rahimi, the second-shift tactical officer, responded alertly. "On intercept course, weapons range in five!"

"Sir!" This shouted notice, expressing an air of surprise, came from Hoshi Sato. "We're receiving a communications request from them!"

_What the hell? Klingons offering to talk first and shoot later? _"Open a channel!" Archer ordered. Eschewing his chair, he took up a standing posture behind the navigator. "And Neda—cut the noise!"

"Aye sir!" The shrieking siren cut out suddenly, leaving behind a reverberation between the captain's ears.

"Sir, it's text only!" This was Hoshi again, expressing her puzzlement at the odd communiqué. "They're requesting to dock." The young woman furrowed her brow before continuing. "I don't know what to make of this, Captain. It's not translated Klingon; the message is in original Earth dialect."

_Vatis'Kish mentioned something about the Augments seizing a Klingon bird-of-prey._

…

_They're shorter than I expected, _Archer reflected as the first Augment stepped through the airlock. The Augment said nothing, merely stepping to one side with a gruff snort of air, giving the captain a moment to reassess his assumptions. The Augment was not significantly taller, but was broad of chest, tapered in the waist, and neatly chiseled with naturally-developed muscle; _easily _the match for the best martial arts practitioners on Earth. And he was clad in black; leathery black pants over black boots, and a torn fishnet tunic for his shirt.

The next Augment stepped through the airlock, and Archer shifted his attention involuntarily; the second one, another male, radiated an aura of power and authority that was nearly intoxilizing. This was—_has to be_—the leader, Archer reasoned, even though he was not the most physically superior; here was a leader who ruled by brains just as much as by brawn.

The second Augment paused in the threshold, as if slowly surveying the _Enterprise _before entering, and casually brushed a lock of blond hair behind his ear. "My name is Maâlîk," he offered politely, and Archer noticed a most peculiar accent in Maâlîk's voice; _not an accent, _Archer realized. The Augment was speaking with incredibly precise diction.

"I'm Captain Jonathan Archer," the baseline human replied, keeping his hands clasped behind his back; their guest was out of reach, and was making no effort towards a handshake. "Welcome aboard the _Enterprise_."

"We are—_pleased_ —to meet you," Maâlîk answered, again elucidating precision in his speech. "I had not expected to find a human starship out this far."

"The _Enterprise _is a new-generation vessel," Archer offered up in explanation. "It's designed for deep-space exploration. In fact, we've—"

"Yes, we know," Maâlîk interrupted sharply, as if he cared little about pleasantries with the captain. "The Delphic Expanse. You made it a thousand light-years out before…_returning._"

Archer cleared his throat to forestall answering; the circumstances surrounding the _Enterprise_'s return were highly classified, and a number of popular explanations had already developed. "Yes. We've prepared a conference room, if you'd like to follow—"

"A conference room?" Maâlîk snorted disdainfully. "What, so we can _talk_? Anything less than action is death, Captain. " The Augment moved abruptly, stepping down from the threshold and nearly bowling over a security guard as he brushed past. "We're only here for one thing, Captain," Maâlîk called out over his shoulder, already receding into the corridor before the scrambling security contingent. "Where is he?"

"Who are you talking about?" Archer asked as he issued a flurry of hand gestures. The guards responded quickly, acting more on instinct than the unclear motions.

Maâlîk turned for a moment. "Dr. Arik Soong," he replied caustically, nearly spitting in Archer's face. "And _don't _bother denying it, Captain: we both know he's here, and I _so _dislike dealing with deception."

"Yes, Dr. Soong is here," Archer replied, cautiously.

Maâlîk's eyes seemed to shoot rays of venom. "Where?" the Augment snarled, his voice dropping to frigidity.

"He's on the ship," Archer stated again, unwilling to yield his trump.

Maâlîk stepped closer to the captain, stopping an arm's-reach away. "What is it you _want _with us, Captain?"

Striving to match the Augment's fury with calmness, Archer forced himself to remain steady. "My orders are to take you back to Earth."

Maâlîk moved closer, allowing Archer to detect his bizarrely mint-laced breath. "And _then _what?" the Augment retorted, snorting scornfully in the captain's face. He launched on before Archer could respond. "Are we going to be 'integrated' into your so-called _open _society? Will we be allowed to walk the streets, like any other human? Or will we be locked up?"

Flinging his hands up, as if ceding defeat, Maâlîk began pacing across the alcove; his voice rose in pitch, as if building to a dramatic scream. "Shoved away in a cage for the rest of our lives, to be poked and prodded by your doctors and scientists? Tell me the _truth, _Captain Archer." His voice plunged sharply. "What _will _happen to us?"

_Maâlîk could kill me, _Archer told himself as he struggled to hold his position against the wave of malice radiating from Maâlîk. It was something he knew academically—_yes, death is always a risk in space. _But uncontrollable coldness ran down Archer's spine as his visceral awareness caught up with his mind. _This isn't bluster. There's no heroic escape. Maâlîk could quite literally kill me, right here. I'd be dead before the guards even reacted._

"I don't know for certain," Archer heard himself saying. His words were barely audible over the cresting breakers slamming against his ears. "My assignment is simply to bring you back to Earth."

Maâlîk snorted scornfully. "Earth considers my father a _criminal,_" the young Augment retorted. Archer shifted backward, away from the air of malice. "Why? How can it be a _crime _to bring a human being to life?" The Augment paused, spitting a wad of blackened bile onto the deck. "Do you incarcerate the parents of every child that you disapprove of, or just us?" he snarled angrily. "What is so _wrong _with us that it justifies that sort of behavior, _Captain_?

"Isn't it enough that we're outcasts from your society?" Maâlîk brought himself face-to-face with the captain. "Do you have to hunt us down, drag us back in chains, and lock us away?"

"You're human beings," Archer retorted. His voice was weak, but he was proud that he could speak at all. "It makes you subject to the laws of Earth."

"Does it now, Captain?" The words twisted with Maâlîk's bitterness. "And do those laws allow you to incarcerate people who have committed no crimes against Earth? Am I human enough to be subject to your laws, but not human enough to claim their protections?"

"People like you—"

Archer was cut off promptly. "Exactly, Captain," Maâlîk rejoined. "People _like _me. _Not me._ What law have _I _broken?"

"The protection is for your own good," Archer answered back, scrambling for firm footing.

Maâlîk chuckled once. "I'm about to attack you," he announced. Before Archer could flinch, the Augment grabbed the captain around the neck and turned Archer about, creating a shield between himself and the guards. "You see?" Maâlîk hissed into Archer's left ear. "Even with a warning, you're not fast enough."

"Let him go," Montag growled, warning the Augment.

Maâlîk's grip didn't lessen. "We have five times your strength, double your intelligence."

"I said, let-him-go!" Montag barked again, pointing his photonic pistol.

Archer spoke up suddenly. "Your strength and intelligence isn't the difference between us, Maâlîk," he remarked, his voice finally airy and light.

"Then what is?" Maâlîk countered suspiciously.

"It's your willingness to kill that makes us different."

Surprisingly, Maâlîk did not tighten his grip. "What about your willingness to condemn the unborn? You see, Captain, I may kill more freely; but I kill in order to survive, whereas you do it out of fear.

"Câîm!" Maâlîk shouted out, not turning to look at his single comrade as the second Augment moved forward in a blur of speed, disarming the _Enterprise _security detail in the course of a blink. The stunned guards staggered backward, caught unprepared for the sheer, swift nimbleness, their pistols lying on the deck before they even perceived the movement.

_It wasn't exactly a quick turn of fortunes, _Archer realized. It was simply a matter of the Augments choosing their moment.

With the task complete, Maâlîk gave Archer a rough shove, sending the captain into a bulkhead; as his head hit the hardened plasticine, the wall refused to yield, and Archer bounced off, stumbling his way to the deck.

"Pêrsîs!" Maâlîk called out, presumably summoning another of his comrades; and the airlock doors reopened behind him, disgorging a stream of mangy-haired, tatter-clothed, disruptor-wielding Augments.

**Kappa-2 Monoceros**

**The Borderlands**

{Eleven years previously}

_Their planet of exile lay, coldly isolated, amid the rocky fragments, failed stars, and gaseous clouds that composed the sparse population of the Borderlands. Its parent star, one of the few in the region able to support stable planets, was a bland and indistinguishable affair; a KV-subdwarf, it glowed a dim orange, already invisible from the farthest reaches of its own system. It was only the planet's proximity to the star that kept it habitable._

_But it was, in many ways, idyllic for the young children as they grew. During the frigidness of winter, when the highest levels of the atmosphere sublimated downward, they kept warm in the extensive limestone caves, naturally lighted with bioluminescent fungi; there was never a lack of things to do, new caverns to explore, new underground rivers to chart, and always a steady dose of learning._

_And when summer came, and the atmosphere thawed in the yellow-orange rays of the sun, the meadows came alive with lush grasses and multi-colored flora; great savannahs sprung up on the northern plains, and to the south, endless ranks of stout trees ran on endlessly. One could fly overhead for hours without seeing a single clearing. And then came the seas; never-ending seas of shallow water, colored in a brilliant turquoise-lime, leading to the multitude of islands and atolls that spread across the planet._

**Sector 010**

The prisoner in billet E-14 heard the sounds of the scuffle coming down the corridor; the harsh barking of voices, the unmistakable whine of disruptor rifles, and the thud of bodies hitting the deck plates sculpted in his mind a picture of the quick and furious battle being waged. They were coming closer, nearing his berth; the disruptor fire outlasting the countervailing photonic pistols, indicating that the attackers were winning.

Dr. Soong positioned himself in the center of the room, preparing for the inevitable. _This could be it, _he told himself, standing steady. The intruders could be anyone—but there was only one party which would come to save him, rather than kill him.

The doors hissed open, and Soong's jaw nearly dropped. It wasn't an Orion, or Nausicaan, or Klingon, or any one of the enemies he had accumulated over the years.

Instead, the first being to cross the threshold was a young human woman, no more than twenty years old. She held a Klingon disruptor rifle by her side, pointed away but ready for action; her hair was nearly raven-black, and pulled back in a ratty ponytail.

_Could it be?_ Soong asked himself as the woman stepped in. It had been ten years, ten long years, since he had seen his children. He had heard nothing, nothing until recently, to indicate that they had even survived. _But this? _Was it possible that his children had grown into such young, vibrant adults?

"Pêrsîs." She spoke once, identifying herself for him, and the spell broke; Soong reached forward, grasping her in firm embrace, and the abashed woman broke into a huge smile, as if a young child greeting her father home after work.

"I can't believe it," Soong whispered as he held on, amazed by the strength and vitality of his daughter. "I can't believe it!"

"Father," she said carefully, seeking to restore some sense of mien. "The others are here too."

Soong nodded, somewhat dumbly, as he released her, taking a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes; but his attempt at gravitas gave way to emotion as he stepped outside. Ten of them were present, standing in a rough semi-circle in the hallway; they were healthy and animated, strong and alert, each one a unique and special individual.

"Câîm!" Soong exclaimed, then: "Pûrâh! Ruâx!" He went down the line, calling each of his children by name; the faces were so familiar now, though unseen for many years. "I knew we'd see each other again!"

"Father!" Maâlîk was the last in the row, and when his turn came, the young man eagerly embraced the doctor. "We have so much to tell you! But first—we need to leave."

"Yes, yes, of course." Soong couldn't avoid a tearful smile as he let his arms fall.

"Yes, Father." Maâlîk gestured down the corridor. "We have a ship waiting at the docking port."

"Very well, then." Soong didn't bother looking back at the room that had been his cell. "Lead on, my son."

…

Malcolm lay in wait at the T-intersection heading an E-deck corridor; Kossovskii and Montag were across from him. Geared up for close-quarters combat, all three men wielded handheld photonic pistols; the full-size rifles were far too bulky to be of much use in the narrow corridors.

Malcolm heard—it required no official report—the Augments coming his way, taking no care to quiet their escape as feet slammed against the deck plating and Klingon disruptors whined, slicing through bulkheads and ripping to conduits and machinery, leaving behind a trail of sabotage en route to the docking port. It was harsh, but necessary, to sacrifice the delicate innards of the _Enterprise_; with the speed of the Augments, Malcolm was unwilling to risk a head-on assault. Biding their time in a trap was the best option.

The heavy feet grew closer, moving faster than Malcolm expected; and fiving a short, furtive burst of hand signals, he instructed the two other members of his team to fall into waiting stance, and fire when a clear shot emerged. They would only have a few seconds from the moment when the first Augment appeared to the moment when the first Augment was upon them.

_There. _Malcolm's ears detected the lead Augment, approaching the opposing intersection of the corridor. Crouching down, he leaned around the corner, taking care to expose only his pistol and his eyes; the regular lighting behind him was shut off, giving Malcolm and his team the benefit of lower lighting to hide in. It was only a slim advantage—the Augments' eyes could no doubt see in dim light—but it was, hopefully, an advantage.

Malcolm's own eyes detected the flurry of a moving shadow. Bracing his pistol, he loosed the safety; and seeing the first movement of a human body, he fired, lighting the corridor up with red fire.

Across from him, Kossovskii and Montage opened fire as well, pouring a horizontal river of lightning down the corridor towards the approaching Augments. Constant, sweeping fire was their best bet; and Malcolm—

Malcolm slumped, unconscious, onto the deck plating. He had not even seen the Augment coming.

**Kappa-2 Monoceros**

**The Borderlands**

{Eleven years previously}

"_Some claim humanity rose up against the Augments." Dr. Arik Soong, his hair not yet silver, spoke calmly and fluidly as he addressed the children. They sat around him, in a semi-circle, listening intently to the words of their father; only one seemed distracted, whispering to a neighbor, who not-so-eloquently told his companion to be quiet._

"_Others say the Augments began fighting among themselves," Soong continued, pleased that Raâkîn was already learning to assert his natural authority. "The truth is that we don't know for certain. The historical records were lost during the Final World War." A war started by baseline humans, and not Augments—and with far deadlier results. Soong did not particularly approve of Khan Noonien Singh, but the doctor found it ironic that Noonien Singh was better-remembered than his bloodier baseline counterparts._

_The glass ceiling of the classroom allowed the springtime glow of sunlight through, casting a gentle halo over the heads of the students. Their focus was rapt as Soong knelt down before them, bringing emphasis to his next point._

"_When it was over," he went on, "people like you were feared. Baseline humans sought to exterminate your brothers and sisters, even those who were still unborn. They denied an entire racial group their right to exist. And for what? What harm had the unborn Augments ever done to baseline humans?"_

_One child raised his hand, waited for acknowledgment, and spoke. "We scared them?"_

_It wasn't the answer Soong was seeking, but he couldn't help smiling. "Yes, Câîm," the doctor replied patiently. "But more so, they resent you. Baseline humans have always sought to tear down the smartest and the strongest among them, and the Augments are no different. But it is good for them to fear you." Soong raised his voice slightly. "A strong leader may be loved, but he must be feared."_

"_Or she!" another child piped up._

_It gave Soong a chuckle. "Yes, Pêrsîs," he replied. "Or she. But the humans on Earth would never allow you to be born, to grow, and to assume your rightful place—which is way I've brought you here. Even a lion, in its infancy, can be killed by a weaker animal; and so I brought you here for your safety, to give you your rightful chance to live and grow. And one day, you will return to take your place as the pinnacle of humanity. You are homo sapiens sapernus."_

_Along one side of the semi-circle, a boy—somewhat shorter than the rest, with stringy, blond hair—raised his hand. Soong nodded to the boy in acknowledgment. "Yes, Maâlîk?"_

_Maâlîk's face was bright and eager as he asked his question. "Are there others like us, Father?"_

_Soong nodded firmly. "There are many others, my son, but they are still asleep. Someday, it will be your duty to wake them and set them free."_

**Sector 010**

"Archer to the bridge!" Archer barked out, slapping a comm panel with the palm of his hand as he staggered upright. "Report!"

"Mayweather here!" Travis shouted back, his voice loud but steady as it wove through the comm systems. "They've returned to the bird-of-prey. They're severing the docking umbilical!" Another voice could be heard in the background: "They cleared!"

Archer fell back to the deck as the _Enteprise _shook violently, inelegantly absorbing the blow of the bird-of-prey's disruptor cannons. Over the racket, he could barely make out the voices coming over the still-live comm channel.

"Starboard nacelle is down!" "They're going to warp!" "They're gone!"

…

_Ten years_—his incarceration, his separation from his children, had lasted ten long years. Ten years of not knowing where they were, how they were doing, or even if they were alive. Were they growing up strong? Had they gone feral? Were they running for their lives, or living in safety and relative comfort?

Ten long years of not knowing. Ten years of forced silence—he could not say anything to the Earth authorities; the UEP would happily chase after his children, but only for the sake of locking them up, hiding them away in the gray areas of legal nonexistence. No, revealing the location of their exile was not an option. He could only hope that those ten years of lessons, ended artificially early, had been sufficient to keep his children alive and united.

_But this_—Soong shook his head in wonderment as he stepped through the elongated neck of the _Ba'Sugh, _entering the bridge from the rear. Seizing an intact Klingon bird-of-prey was no small feat, no small accomplishment for _anyone_; it required speed and agility, hard strength, and cunning intelligence, all focused as one. His children were barely twenty Earth years old—if they had come to him in a dilapidated freighter, he could believe it. _But not a bird-of-prey._

Of course, not all was perfect. Soong's own memory, more potent than most baseline humans, identified seventeen of his twenty children onboard the spacecraft. Tûrêl was gone on assignment, conducting espionage on Gamma Deuteron Ceti. But that left two, Raâkîn and Udär, unaccounted for.

Still, could baseline humans have accomplished a ninety percent survival rate under similar conditions? _Not likely._ A group of baseline humans would last, at most, a month; his children made it ten years, and then forged their own escape. It was, in a way, the proof that Soong had been looking for; hard proof that, if humans were to survive in space, then serious alterations had to be made to the species.

_The cold. The heat. Radiation. Poisonous gases. No breathable air. Atmospheric pressures. Alien viruses and parasites. Unimagined carnivores. Inedible native foods. Belligerent alien races. Variations in gravity. _And a hundred more problems.

Pacing slowly as he thought, Soong reached the front of the bridge, and now turned about to face the Augments. "There were times," he began, speaking quietly as he sought to suppress tears. "There were times back on Earth when I doubted myself, doubted my work." Standing before the ship's viewscreen, the doctor's face was framed by the Cherenkov effect, rendering the otherwise-invisible stars as passing rays of light.

"But seeing you all—it makes me so proud to be your Father. To see the young men and women that you've become. Everything I've worked for, my entire life, as come to life in _you_. Seeing you today…I know that everything has been worth it." His words were somewhat disjointed, as he struggled to piece together coherent thoughts.

"You are the _future,_" Soong went on, gradually finding a stride. "You are the promise of humanity, the promise of a bold, new era. The new human race—the race that will survive—will be your progeny.

"But we can't begin that task just yet," Soong added. He looked at each of his children in turn. "Thousands of your brothers and sisters are still trapped in purgatory, waiting to be born." He took a deep breath.

"Let's go get them."


	8. Chapter 7

**Kappa-2 Monocerotis**

**The Borderlands**

{Eleven years previously}

"_Humanity was not content to defeat Noonien Singh," Arik Soong continued, speaking pleasantly despite the calamity of the story; it was a warm day, a sunny afternoon of soft, flower-kissed breezes, and the children were gathered around the base of a nivellea tree. "Resentful and hateful, the baseline humans sent out an edict to utterly destroy the Augments; even those who had not been involved in Singh's schemes."_

_Gazing upon the bright, tanned faces and sun-bleached locks of hair, Soong nearly lost his place. "Humanity hunted down Noonien Singh and his brethren," the doctor continued, passing the slip off as an intentional pause. "The first Augments had sought to bring order and peace to Earth, seeking to eliminate warfare and deprivation for the first time in human history. But humanity rejected their betters. None of the Augments survived the purge. They were harassed, hunted, and killed, their very corpses irradiated and burned."_

_A couple of the children shivered visibly. "Two thousand unborn embryos were left. The baselines were too cowardly to terminate the embryos, and too cowardly to allow them to live. Instead, they were condemned to a perpetual purgatory, denied their very existence." It was, to Soong, the most despicable act of them all, but he spoke only with the careful recitation of a lecturer._

"_Within a generation, Earth descended into chaos. Food, water, arable land, fuel, raw materials…all became in short supply, and nations and cities jockeyed for dwindling resources, beggaring their neighbors to fill their own coffers, however momentarily. Ironically, the Earth had no shortage of water. But it was not consumable, and not in the locations where it was needed._

"_The times called for brave, innovative leadership; the audacity of cooperation, and the brotherhood of mutual support," Soong continued, flowing smoothly through the presentation. "They called for the re-evaluation of priorities, the uplifting of the common need over individual greed. But instead…humanity sniped away at its best, and elevated the lowest common denominator."_

_A child, towards the forefront, raised his hand eagerly, nearly twitching in eagerness. _

"_Yes, Pûrâh?" Soong smiled at the child, pleased to see such interest from the youngster._

"_Can I go to the bathroom?"_

_Soong's smile fell. "Later, my son."_

_Resuming his professorial tone, Soong launched back into his soliloquy. __"With natural resources depleted, and the planet raped, mankind fell into bickering. When two men were unable to both possess a desired object, they became enemies, and endeavored to subdue and destroy each other._

"_With each man devoted only to his own tribe," Soong went on, allowing the darkness to creep into his tone, "no common power developed to restore order. For this—" he raised his voice, highlighting the coming point—"is why humanity can never truly live at peace: a society based on competition is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. It beggars its own sense of community. And when community vanishes, war begins."_

_A slender hand rose in the back. "Is that when the Final World War broke out?"_

_Soong nodded. "A state of war broke out, of every man against every man. Made victim to his passions, the human lust for battle raged unchecked by the hand of a strong leader." Soong punched his palm, holding back his fist to illustrate the point._

"_War begets war," Soong continued, imagining that the breeze was blowing more strongly across his skin. "And the escalation of battle was inevitable; six hundred million humans died on the battlefields, consumed in the fires of war. __Countless more perished in the decades that followed, as the land struggled to support humanity, and the scarcity of food and clothing pitted human against human in miniature battles for survival."_

_Taking a moment, Soong took in a long, deep breath, enjoying the delicate fragrances of the nivellea tree. It wasn't often that he enjoyed the exile from Earth, but days like this—bright and beautiful, soaking in the pureness of uncorrupted nature, an entire world available to him—made the pain of his banishment lessen. "In hindsight," he went on, forcing his thoughts back to unhappier things, "the problems were obvious._

"_Understand, my children: the peace that Earth currently enjoys is a mirage. For, as the nature of foul weather lies not in a momentary rain shower, but rather in the tendency over many days to storm, so too does the nature of war lie not only in actual fighting, but lies whenever there is a disposition to fight. _

"_Humanity still exists in this state of cold war. Its meager institutions are weak, unable to compel the awe of their subjects, unable to grant the assurance of permanent peace. Underneath the veneer, the passion, the hatred, the lust, the distrust, and the fear, still rage. Do humans not still lock their doors, and hide their valuables, living in the fear of violent death? It is only the exhaustion of war that preserves the peace." _

...

_**Enterprise**_

**Kappa-2 Monocerotis**

Captain's Log, May 29, 2154. We have arrived in the star system of Kappa-2 Monocerotis, where the Augments spent the first ten years of their lives. I have little hope of finding anything here that might indicate where they are going…but this is the only hope we have.

The starship barely shuddered as Travis applied the braking thrusters, allowing the craft to glide its way into a simple parking orbit of the planet below. It was—if Travis had to say so—an elegant parking, relying on inertia to carry them softly in, rather than utilizing the harsh back-and-forth of the maneuvering jets. Piloting a starship, after all, was not particularly complex; piloting it without abusing the inertial dampeners, however, was an art form.

"Assuming orbit, sir," Travis called out, tapping the final controls to settle the _Enterprise _in to its new cradle. The pronouncement was more of a formality; the captain, eager even now, stood beside Travis, watching the navigational readings as they descended into orbit.

His immediate task complete, Travis allowed himself a moment to watch the planetary curve on the viewscreen. From their vantage point, the majority of the planet was lit up by the glow of sunlight, the remainder encased in the darkness of night, its horizon accented by the shimmer of far-off stars.

By visible indications, it was still a young planet, barely past the massive geologic upheavals of its creation; broad, shallow seas could be seen, wrapping their way around the belly of the planet, flanked by great forests and the bluish-green of swamplands. Few mountains were visible, but an expansive icecap was apparent.

As luck would have it, it was "summer" in their target zone.

It took only seconds for Travis to locate the coordinates of Soong's colony, and a gentle nudge from a single jet subtly altered the _Enterprise_'s course. Within an hour—perhaps a little less—they would enter a perfect geostationary orbit above it.

"No anomalous tactical readings, Captain," Malcolm reported from his rear station. His precise tones cut across the bridge, snapping the crew from their temporary sense of awe at seeing an alien planet.

"No communications signals, Captain," Hoshi confirmed from her post, having taken the time to scan twice. None were expected; but the _Enterprise _crew was too sharp to rely on that.

"Verena?" Archer glanced back for only a second as he queried the acting chief science officer.

"One moment, sir," she replied, then: "No anomalous readings, sir. The planet appears to be standard M-class. Oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, with no signs of breathing hazards. Air pressure slightly denser than Earth norm, and surface gravity is…four-point-two percent stronger."

"I'm getting a visual now, sir," Hoshi added, and the viewscreen blinked once before zooming in rapidly, highlighting a clearing in the band of steppes between the forests and the icecap. As the image cleared, the compound became apparent: a network of artificial structures arranged, in a rough semi-circle, around a rockface containing doors, windows, and even a skylight.

Travis felt the shift in the air as the captain moved away. "Malcolm, you're with me," Archer ordered, his voice trailing slightly as he crossed to the lift. "Travis, you have the bridge."

"Aye, sir," Travis called out. He tapped a command to summon his helm replacement, and assumed the command chair.

...

_**I.K.S. Ba'Sugh**_

_**Somewhere **_

A Klingon bird-of-prey is a rather small vessel.

Nonetheless, rank has its privileges, particularly in the feudal mindset of Klingon society. The packed vessel contained two rooms of barracks-style bunks; one, crammed in tightly with little room to even move, was for the enlisted crew. The second, slightly roomier—but only slightly—was for the small officer corp.

But the captain got his own room.

Although the room had been claimed by Maâlîk, there was no question of where Soong would set up shop. He was their _father, _after all, holding a position even loftier than that of a Klingon captain. But now that he was here, in the presence of his children, with workspace and a computer at his disposal…Soong could find no energy to think about genetics.

Ten years of sitting in his cell, with nothing but a pencil, some paper, and his mind, he had spent every waking hour endlessly jotting down notes and ideas, visualizing the genetic chains in his head, sometimes crafting double helixes out of his dinner; his memory held a treasure trove of genetic data the work of others and his own alterations conceived of and developed during his long incarceration. He had a hundred ideas; _nay,_ a thousand ideas, for how to augment his children still further, to make them tougher and smarter, to make them better able to survive lethal reaches of interstellar space.

But he couldn't focus.

It was such a very unusual sensation for him, and it troubled Soong as he rocked back in his chair, his eyes glazing over as he tried to read the packets of biochemical codes scrolling across the computer screen before him. The questions on his mind seemed far more profound than sequences of nucleic acid. _How did my children end up with a stolen bird-of-prey? Why do their eyes seem so hard? _They had picked up Tûrêl; _but where are Bêrîth and Raâkîn?_

As Soong wondered, his min floating on the musings, the hatchway doors opened with a characteristic Klingon _clang_. Turning about, Soong rise, but he greeted his new bunkmate with a warm smile. "Hello, Maâlîk," the doctor stated, wondering if the others had noted the strain in the young man. "Is there any sign of pursuit?"

Maâlîk fell heavily onto the thick pile of furs covering the slab of a bed. "No, Father," he answered wearily. "We've found no trace of pursuit or surveillance."

"Perhaps you should take a rest, Maâlîk," Soong offered in concern. "We have several days of flight ahead of us. One of the others can handle your duties for the time being.

"No. Thank you, Father, but no," Maâlîk restated quickly. "I am the Leader. It is up to—me—to keep my brothers and sisters safe." Several deep yawns provided pauses in the sentence.

"Yes," Soong replied softly. "Then, perhaps, we should take the time to have a conversation."

Maâlîk smiled woefully. "Of course, Father," he answered. His tone flirted with insouciance. "What would you like to discuss?"

Soong leaned forward. "Where are Bêrîth and Raâkîn?"

"They both died recently," Maâlîk replied nonchalantly.

"_Died?_" Soong's already pale face became ashen. "But they—I mean, they—" He stammered a bit, unable to finish the thought.

Maâlîk nodded in confirmation. "You know of Bêrîth's condition, Father," the Leader answered. "Our exile was too rough for him. I'm sorry, Father, but he didn't make it."

Soong nodded soberly as he acknowledged the sad report. It was, in its own way, unsurprising; and that, if nothing else, eased the sharp infliction of pain stabbing through the doctor's being. Bêrîth had been…a treasured child, a precious child, strong in his own ways. But there was no denying his physical frailty.

"And what of Raâkîn?" Soong asked, softly, nudging the young leader along. "I've asked around. No one will tell me what happened."

"What exactly have the others said?" Maâlîk replied, cautiously. A notable hic, a grieving sound, was clear in his voice.

"Only that Raâkîn didn't make it," Soong answered. There was a remarkable sense of silence surrounding the circumstances of Raâkîn's death, as if the old childhood codes were still in force among his maturing offspring; the old parental intuition told him that something big, something scarring, centered on Raâkîn's death, but touched all of his children.

Maâlîk's eyes bounced around the low-lit room, as if searching for a place to hide. "There was an accident," he said at last, his voice croaking slightly with subdued grief. "Shortly before we left the moon."

Soong sat back in his chair in conscious effort to lessen the physical pressure on Maâlîk. "What happened?" the doctor prodded. He kept his voice soft and gentle, reassuring the young man that he had nothing to fear; Soong was simply a concerned parent. There may be blame to place…but Soong knew he wouldn't. _It's not worth it,_ he reflected. Two of the twenty had already been touched by death; and the survivors had no one to turn to for solace in those brutal days.

And he could see the guilt in Maâlîk's face.

_Whatever happened, _Soong understood, it involved Maâlîk somehow. The two boys—at least, in those blissful years of their childhood—had been constantly at odds with each other; Raâkîn's love for hierarchy and Maâlîk's thirst for chaos were a volatile mix. _But it made Raâkîn a better leader, and Maâlîk a better…leader as well._

_If Raâkîn had simply died, _Soong understood, it would not be troubling his other son so much.

And Maâlîk's grief was genuine as he stumbled forward, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. "We were having an argument," he began, haltingly. "I—I was accusing him of being a coward, of ignoring our destiny. He was angry with me…and lost his focus. He slipped on a wet rock."

"And?" Soong prodded again.

"He fell into a lake of hydrogen sulfide," Maâlîk stated quietly. "The concentration…was too high. I tried to grab his hand, and pull him out—but he was gone. I'm sorry, Father."

There was more to the story—more to the argument, more to the dispute, more to Maâlîk's sense of self-reproach, but Soong chose to let it go. His son—his surviving son—did not need Soong's condemnation.

"It's okay, Maâlîk," the doctor answered. "It's okay. I should have been there for you—for both of you."

...

_**Enterprise**_

**Kappa-2 Monocerotis**

Dusk had fallen by the time the shuttlepod reached the surface, and although it meant little to Porthos, the remainder of the landing party broke out flashlights as they clambered out of the small craft. An experimental sniff of the air revealed that it was clean and strong; the odor of alien flowers was easily detectable, tantalizing the human noses with heretofore unknown scents and promises.

Porthos, for his part, promptly peed.

"This way!" Archer called out, gesturing towards the rockface. Unsealed files from the original raid indicated that the main facilities were built into the rock; time permitting—which seemed likely—they would bring down additional teams to search the other buildings.

It was short work to enter—the door, presumably unused for a decade, was conspicuously clean of debris, opening easily at the push of a hand. Leaving two guards outside, the team made their way in, flashing lights about the entryway; the first room was a large cavern, split into several parts by the use of paper screens. _A common room, _Archer identified quickly. Numerous corridors jutted outward, snaking their way deeper into the rock.

"Cap'n!" Smitty called out, his voice echoing from a rocky alcove along one wall of the large room. "You gotta see this—a protein resequencer, water purifier, cryogenic storage…everything you'd need to keep a colony of humans alive!"

"Sir! Over here!" Malcolm added, drawing the captain's attention to another alcove, this one closer. Stepping over beside the dividing wall, Archer noticed what appeared to be a lab; scientific equipment, most of which he didn't recognize, flashed blinking lights at him.

"Smitty!" Archer called his engineer over. Sidestepping around an overturned chair, Trip joined his commander to survey the equipment.

Smitty grabbed a handful of loose wires, and studied the connectors on the end. "Interfaces," he said. "They look a lot like the ones we have in our Sickbay. I'd say these were wired to medical equipment."

"I need to know exactly what kind," Archer responded. "It's important."

"I'll see what I can find out," the engineer answered.

As the engineer bent down to take a closer look at the equipment, Archer continued his survey of the main room. Turning to a wall-mounted monitor, the captain tapped the screen, opening a random file. Surprisingly, it wasn't a genetic schematic, nor a school lesson; he had opened up a video file of Dr. Soong and the children, clearly celebrating a birthday. Soong sat in the middle of the screen. In front of him sat a cake, bearing ten candles. A group of children clustered around, laughing and giggling in anticipation of the sweet dessert. One of the children leaned forward and blew out the candles. "I'll be damned," Archer murmured to himself.

...

Deeper into the rock, Malcolm moved slowly through a passageway, wondering to himself why Starfleet landing parties always seemed to end up deep in caves. This one, at least, was not overtly dank and dark; it may have been, at one time, a natural tunnel cutting through the thickened bedrock, but the walls had been carved away. Now, it was comfortably large; two people could easily fit abreast without discomfort, and the floors, wall, and ceiling were all smoothed over. Gently running his fingers over the stone, Malcolm took a moment to examine the work; surprisingly, it bore small imperfections, as if the finishing had been performed by hand

A glowing glimmer in one corner caught Malcolm's eye, and curious, he dimmed his flashlight to its lowest setting, transitioning slowly downward into the near-infrared wavelengths as his eyes adapted. Now, several glowing stripes were visible, running horizontally along the walls; stronger in some places and weaker in others, as if the bioluminescent substance hadn't received its last sprucing up, but painted with arrows distinctly leading back to the front of the warren.

Submerged in the simple sublimity Malcolm closed his eyes for a moment, allowing his other senses to surge to the forefront. He could hear the echo of voices, back behind him at the entrance cavern; but the only other sound was the snuffling of a beagle's nose as Porthos trotted up beside him .It was the dog's sudden tenseness, rather than any perception of his own, that alerted Malcolm.

Someone else was in the tunnel.

_Who could it be? _Calmly, Malcolm sifted through the options. The _Enterprise _landing party was all accounted for. It could be an indigenous life form, but there had been no sign of animalistic disturbance. _In fact, _Malcolm realized, there was no sign of any disturbance at all, other than the clear doorway.

His own breath lessened, Malcolm shut off his light and lessened his breath, listening for sign of the intruder—_the other intruder_, he amended. The faint glow provided sufficient light with which to see; and sensing nothing on his own, Malcolm carefully followed the beagle's peering eyeline. _There, behind that bend._

Porthos sensed it first.

Malcolm reacted instinctively, flattening himself against the wall as the dog burst into frantic snarling; and a figure rushed forward, not pausing as it passed by, leaving behind a chilled breeze and the odor of unwashed stench. In the momentary, fleeting glimpse, the being resembled a faint, skeleton-thin ghost, unnaturally slender with an almost glowing paleness.

Porthos was hot on the being's tail, baying loudly as he chased the stranger towards the front cavern; and Malcolm came along, two steps behind, allowing the bioluminescent stripes to guide him through the darkness. There was only a short distance, he judged, before they reached the front; he had been little more than a hundred meters into the tunnel, and the being navigated the twists and turns with natural ease.

...

No one could miss the bark of a beagle in hot pursuit.

Archer, Smitty, and the two-person security detail fanned out, their movements dictated by silent hand signals four flashlights trained on the entrance to the tunnel, hoping to stun the unknown being with the force of right light. Two seconds counted down, an almost agonizing wait, before the being appeared suddenly.

It—_he, _Archer corrected, making an educated guess—hit the concentrated spotlight and froze. The being's pale skin seemed almost bleached in the light.

Very carefully, the captain lowered his own light and stepped into the penumbra of his others. He knelt down, laying his photonic pistol on the floor with exaggerated movements; and as he slowly straightened, Archer held his arms open, his hands wide and facing the stranger. His voice was level and calm as he spoke. "We're not going to hurt you."

"Who _are _you?" the being demanded, his voice rapidly approaching panic; but the words were familiar to the Starfleet officers. Despite the being's otherworldly appearance, he was human—the diction was too natural for an alien speaker.

"We're your friends," Archer stated, trying to project his best notion of friendly warmth. "We're not going to hurt you. We just want to talk to you."

"Leave me alone!" the being shouted, shifting his feet as though preparing to flee. Jerking slightly from side to side, the being reached behind himself and produced a knife.

The blast of Malcolm's photonic pistol immediately leveled the being from behind.


	9. Chapter 8

**Kappa-2 Monocerotis**

**11 years ago**

_Soong was pleased with his presentation, but the high point was still to come; calmly, he took in a deep breath, and moved into the next portion. "In this state of war, every person is their own ruler, enslaved to the overwhelming demands of self-preservation. But this environment is self-defeating: for, in the state of war, which humanity dwells in, there can be no security. It is for the promotion of security that humans must be forced to leave behind their inclinations towards combat and competition, and aspire to seek a covenant of peace._

"_Yes, I say forced: for if there is no force, and peace depends solely on the goodwill of mankind, it will ultimately fail. In the absence of a greater power, suspicion and distrust cannot be overcome. Each person, not trusting his neighbor to act in peace, will fall victim to his own fear. Mere words, mere promises, are too weak to bridle the passion, avarice, ambition, and anger endemic in mankind. _

"_Thus, a common, greater power must be established, with the force necessary to compel peaceful performance on the part of every person. When there is a power that can constrain the behavior of those who would succumb to their fears, those fears become unnecessary, and an atmosphere of peace and cooperation can emerge. A greater power is thus necessary for humanity's own good."_

_Dr. Soong paused in his lesson. The Augmented children were listening raptly, with a focus and attention that far surpassed that of common humans. Looking at the young faces around him, Arik Soong felt a surge of pride and warmth; these children were the positive proof of his mission, his duty, to bring peace and order to humanity._

"_The Covenant of Security, without a greater power to compel observance, is contrary to the natural passions of mankind. The covenant, without the sword, is mere words, with no strength to ensure peace and security. _

"_The greater power, in order to fulfill its obligation, must have the obedience of its subjects. Each person must give up his claim to self-authority, and accept the will and judgment of the greater power. Only then does the new Leader have the power and strength to enforce the Covenant of Security._

"_To achieve this power, the Leader must stand ready to force mankind to submit, with the assurance of destruction if they refuse; and by war, subdue the enemies of peace, order, and security._

"_Ordinary humans fear people like you," Soong went on. "Humans will always fear you. They fear your power, your intellect. They fear you because you are the natural leaders._

"_You alone have the ability to bring stability and order to the chaos of humanity. You alone have the power to force mankind to accept your commands and become your subjects. You alone have the strength to hold apart warring people and, thru their fear, enforce the covenant of peace. It is your modified genes, your augmented genome, that gives you this power._

"_You alone have been saved from the horrors of human instinct. You alone stand above the masses, their moral superiors. The petty ambitions, the lust for power, the abuse of command, the avarice, the greed, the hatred, the cruelty, the envy, these are plagues of the inferior. They are flaws of breeding, innately inferior, buried in human DNA._

"_As we enhanced your physical abilities, we fixed your human nature."_

_The faces of the children were lit by the jumping flames of the campfire. Several of the Augments slid in closer, hanging onto every word._

"_You alone have been freed. Your mental superiority and your moral superiority go hand-in-hand. And that freedom allows you to be the natural leaders, for you will govern in the interests of the masses, as the benign, all-powerful leaders. Only under your guidance will humanity be able to truly overcome its differences, and it is your leadership that will bring about the new age. It is your obligation, and it is your destiny._

"_Fear is a tool, to be wielded as a weapon, used as a legitimate instrument to ensure the obedience of mankind, for humanity lacks the ability to appreciate your moral superiority. It is their fear of you that will keep humanity in line, subservient, and amenable to your commands. It is for their own good._

"_You alone are the enlightened, the evolved. Humanity exists, always on the precipice, with only a thin veneer of civilization masking the seething instincts of brutality and indifference. It is your leadership—the leadership that you have been born to—that will save mankind."_

...

_**Ba'Sugh**_

_**Somewhere**_

Deep Freeze: a joint Denobulan-human cryogenic storage facility, designed to store the last surviving remnants of Earth's deadliest viruses and bacteria. Deep in the coldness of space, buried in the hyperborean chill of a long-dead planetoid dating from the depths of time, the lab was under both natural and artificial quarantines to prevent even the chanciest outbreak of its malevolent inventory.

And even if one could locate the planetoid—one more chunk of frozen rock, yet an infinitesimal object in the vastness of space—one still had to break in. Through the sensor nets, through the weaponry, through the bulkheads and tritanium doors, through kilometers-deep rock.

A cross-section of the facility, drawn partly from stolen files and partly from Soong's reconstructed memories, was splayed across the wall-sized monitors at the rear of the _Ba'Sugh_'s bridge. "We have to reach _this _sublevel," the doctor was saying, as he pointed to an interior wing. Buried within the rock, the layout of the station was itself surprisingly simple; a central cylinder, emerging only from one end of the planetoid, with rings of various diameters formed the core of the station. From the rings, tendril-like corridors extended into the bedrock. "Security personnel are located here…and here," Soong added.

Maâlîk stepped up to the monitor, pointing to a control junction. "A direct hit to this power conduit would demolish their life support systems," he suggested smoothly. "All we'd have to do is wait a couple of hours—"

"_No._" Soong cut the young man off sharply, clearly displeased with the suggestion. He had always been able to rely on Raâkîn to balance out Maâlîk's reckless indifference…his children had been specifically tailored in such a manner, a yin to a yang. _But in the absence of Raâkîn's guiding hand…_ "We will _not _take lives needlessly, Maâlîk," Soong stated with harsh flatness.

Maâlîk replied with a gaze of near-disbelief. "But we could walk in unopposed!" he protested, waving a hand at the diagram."Why should we endanger our people we have such an option The youth nearly shook as he held back his anger. "And what if they fire on _us, _Father? Their deaths would not be needless!"

Soong was shorter than the Augment, but several seconds of the doctor's steely gaze forced the young man down from his pique. "We will _not _kill any humans," Song repeated, his lips pressed tight against his teeth. "Is that _understood, _Maâlîk?"

"Yes, Father, Maâlîk grumbled. Unhappy with the reprimand—unhappy with himself for giving so easily—the lad turned about petulantly and stalked through the hatchway doors, disappearing behind the sharp clang of Klingon engineering.

Soong turned his attention back to the schematic. "As I was saying…"

...

_**Enterprise**_

**Kappa-2 Monocerotis**

"You'd never guess it from looking at him," Phlox averred as he greeted the captain at the entrance to sickbay. Following the doctor's direction, Archer entered, taking care to note the presence of Malcolm's detail conspicuously hanging about the perimeter. "But he's an augmented human."

_No, I wouldn't have guessed it, _Archer thought as he approached the primary biobed. The being—recognizably human, albeit far from the norm—lay flat on the bed. He was loosely strapped down, but it appeared to be more for reasons medical than security; his body quivered and shook, as if enduring a low-grade, non-stop seizure. Intravenous needles were taped tightly about his arms, providing the youth's body with vital nutritional support.

"Is there something you can do for him?" Archer asked in concern. In the brightness of sickbay, the Augment's appearance was downright shocking, and he couldn't help but wonder if they all looked this way. Where he had expected to see a strong, vibrant youth, the captain instead saw a sickly child; the Augment's growth was curtailed, at barely five feet and his bare chest than skeletal hollows. His skin was a ghostly white, contrasting sharply with the venom blackness of long, straggly hair; cuts, bruises, and dirt covered his body, adding various scars and blotches of deep browns and purples.

_He's so young._

In response, Phlox pointed towards his office; taking the cue, the captain followed, not speaking until the transparent, soundproof shield sealed them in. Phlox shook his head slowly before he began to speak. "I'd scarcely know where to begin," he admitted. "The boy is severely malnourished and suffering from neurological decay. If he was a baseline human, I could do something about it." The physician waved his hands in meek concession of futility. "But with the genetic changes…"

"What about those genetic changes?" Archer pressed. "I thought—well—"

"That it should have toughened him up?" Phlox gave an all-too-human sigh. ""There's a reason _why _genetic augmentation is generally banned, Captain, and it has nothing to do with Noonien Singh and other would-be tyrants. Genetic augmentation is an incredibly precise science; and even when you do everything right, it doesn't always work out. The genetic code off a sentient being is just too complex. I need to do an in-depth analysis, but I suspect that several of the alterations had some unintended effects."

"Is it alright if I talk to him, Doctor?"

"I wouldn't recommend it, Captain," Phlox replied doubtfully. "He's asleep right now. If I woke up now, he wouldn't even be cognizant."

"He's our only lead, Doctor," Archer answered, somewhat tiredly. "How soon can he answer some questions?"

"At least half a day." Phlox shrugged his shoulders in imitation of the human gesture. "Maybe more. I'll let you know when he can."

"The _moment _he can, Doctor." Archer inhaled deeply. "I don't have any other ideas."

...

"I'm looking for ideas, people." Archer massaged his temples gently, trying to ease the pulsing ache behind his eyes. They'd already been in space for a month, chasing after the rogue Augments; and Archer had just spent the better part of a day realizing that they had no remaining leads whatsoever.

The command staff—the majority his normal staff, but with two key substitutions—were gathered again in the rear bridge alcove, arranged in a rough ellipse around the three-dimensional star map hovering over the briefing display. It showed—Archer counted quickly to confirm his instincts—a total of sixty-four sectors, mostly unexplored by Earth vessels. Each sector held, in rough calculations, one _thousand _cubic light-years of space.

"I've been thinking about this, Captain," Travis said slowly, as he folded his arms across his chest. The helmsman stood along the opposing side of the display, his eyes lost in the midst of the artificial starfield. He took the silence as consent to continue. "Dr. Soong considers the Augments to be his children, right? And his biggest grievance isn't even the treatment of those twenty—it was the other Augments, frozen in embryo."

Smitty grasped the coming point first. "You think he's going to steal the others?" he asked. The engineer rubbed the stubble on his face as he spoke.

_It's a good idea, _Archer reflected silently. _But lacking any evidence._

"You're assuming that Soong knows where the other embryos are," Malcolm countered, falling into his oft-familiar role of devil's advocate. "That's—that's highly restricted information, Lieutenant."

"I wouldn't bet against him, unfortunately," Archer responded grudgingly. "But do _we _know where they are?" Their own knowledge was rather critical, if Travis' idea was to pan out…

"Yes, sir." Malcolm hesitated before continuing. His own knowledge was somewhat…unofficial. "They're in a special cryogenic facility, outside of Earth's star system. It's called Deep Freeze. But I don't know the coordinates."

"I might be able to help with that," Phlox admitted. Malcolm shot a surprised look at the doctor. "Deep Freeze is operated jointly by Earth and the Denobulan medical authorities, designed to isolate dangerous viruses and bacteria. I played a certain role in its early operation. Dr. Soong was there for a few months early on, but I had no idea that the augmented embryos were being stored there. I don't recall ever seeing them on the inventory sheets."

"It's a highly secret facility, Doctor," Malcolm replied, trying to quash his alarm. "Even the people who know what's stored there don't know where the place is."

"Lieutenant Mayweather, can you pull up a map of sector 001?" At Phlox's request, the holographic starfield zeroed in on a single sector. "Deep Freeze is located right about…here," Phlox said, using a stylus to point.

Travis leaned in closer and squinted at the location. "Phlox, there's no star system there."

"Of course not," Phlox replied. "Deep Freeze is on a rogue planetoid—a devilishly hard one to find, at that."

The targeted coordinates were on the flip side of Earth space. "How much travel time, Travis?" the captain asked, somewhat doubtfully. It was a far throw from the Rigelian Corridor—and the Augments had shown no previous signs of abandoning that stretch of space.

Travis ran quick calculations in his head. "A little over six days, Captain."

_Six days…this might work to our advantage, _Archer realized. "Malcolm, how much of a lead do the Augments have?"

"They'll have approximately one day head start," Malcolm mused, "but their top cruising speed is only warp 4.4. It'll be a race to the finish."

Verena shrugged her shoulders as she entered the conversation for the first time. "It's the only idea we have, Captain."

_That it is, _Archer told himself. _And a risky one at that…but risk is our business. _"Travis, set a course for Deep Freeze," Archer ordered. His decision was made; it would either succeed…or fail spectacularly. "Smitty, we'll depart as soon as engineering gives clearance. Malcolm, make arrangements to drop the _Hawke _off at Deneva; and Hoshi, get Admiral Forrest on subspace." The standard 'fleet ships were far slower than the _Enterprise, _but also much closer.

And it was time to hunt.

...

The Starfleet emblem dissolved, revealing the wearied face of Admiral Maxwell Q. Forrest.

_At least, _Archer noted as the face appeared on his monitor, _he looks weary. _The _Enterprise _was some twenty light-years from Earth, and subspace communications was still in its infancy; the image was heavily pixilated, and suffered from a small but noticeable time delay. _Perhaps I'm feeling my own fatigue, _he reflected.

"Admiral." Archer straightened subconsciously as he addressed the Starfleet Chief-of-Staff. "I hope I'm not catching you at a bad hour."

Forrest's response came several beats later. "There _are _no good hours, Jonathan," the admiral replied tiredly. "You'd think that the brouhaha would die away…but it just seems to get worse."

Archer groaned inwardly. "What is it now?" he asked, tentatively, uncertain if he really wanted the answer. _It's not like I can do much about it out here, after all._

"The Revanchist-backed parties are trying to kill our upcoming summit on Vulcan." Forrest's answer came after the standard lag. "One MEP even submitted a bill to strip Starfleet of all our funding in order to prevent it."

Archer shook his head in sorrow-laced confusion. "Six months ago, they couldn't toss money at us fast enough," the captain remarked, recalling the uncomfortable adulation. "What the hell happened?"

Forrest seemed to sigh as he slumped backward. "According to LOBONews, the summit on Vulcan is 'nothing more than a surreptitious attempt to surrender what remains of Earth's sovereignty to the rapacious greed of Vulcan tyrants who seek to destroy our way of life.'"

"What do the Revanchists expect to get out of it?"

"Oh, the Revanchists know the truth. Fact is, if they were in power, they'd probably support the summit. But they're not in power, and it's providing a powerful avenue for attacking Prime Minister Samuels." Forrest ran a hand through his thin hair. "Problem is, they're whipping people into a paranoid frenzy: telling everyone to be _afraid, _be very _afraid _of this amorphous, unknown enemy that can be hiding _anywhere…_" The depth of the admiral's frustration was revealed in his atypical tone. "Give me some good news, Jonathan."

Archer took a moment before responding. "We haven't captured the Augments yet," he answered slowly, searching for the right phrasing. "But we know where to find them."

"That's something, I suppose," Forrest grunted. "Where are they?"

"Have you heard of a quarantine station called _Deep Freeze_?" It required no further explanation.

Forrest groaned softly. "Yes, but I'm a little surprised that _you _have. Are they there yet?"

"No, they're en route," Archer answered. "Six days."

"And you're certain?"

"No," Archer admitted. "Call it…intuition. They…attacked the _Enterprise_, Admiral. They made off with Soong."

"Shit," Forrest muttered, scarcely loud enough for the audio capture. "Didn't I order you—never mind." Forrest's gaze drifted as he consulted a console off-screen. "The _Magnanime _is the closest ship I have. I'll have her depart immediately, but you'll still arrive at the facility several hours sooner." The _Magnanime_'s top speed was only warp 2.4.

"Admiral…" Archer bit his lower lip as he debated whether to continue. "What's going to happen to them?" he asked, deciding to forge ahead with the delicate question. "The Augments, I mean. What will happen to them if—when—we catch them?"

The audible portion of Forrest's sigh came a half-beat quicker than the visual. "Jon…" the admiral glanced around, as if searching for eavesdroppers. "Listen, Jon, you can't go spreading this around," Forrest cautioned. "I'm not even supposed to know, but I have some friends in the Prime Minister's office. He has a select group drafting a policy to hold the Augments in indefinite detention—no trial, no review, no public acknowledgment of their existence. The detainment facility won't even be in the solar system."

Archer sat back in stunned silence as the words sank in. "What difference would that make?" he asked, finally, stumbling through the words.

"The Justice Ministry's writ only covers the solar system, Deneva, and Berengaria."

"Admiral, they're still human!"

Forrest's face fell still sharper. "They're…being declared 'non-legal persons.' I know what you're thinking, Jonathan: the First Guarantee of Human Rights states that 'no person is illegal'. And yes, this a load of sophistry."

"It sounds like a bad joke," Archer replied softly. "But I've met them. These _are _human beings that we're talking about, not…some abstract classification scheme." Thoughts spilled through the captain's head as he rolled on. "Will they even be given a chance to interact with other humans? Live anything like a normal life?"

"Jonathan, other humans won't even know of their existence."

"They're barely adults, Admiral!" Archer took a deep breath, then another. "Twenty-year-old kids. They deserve a _chance_, Admiral!"

"They're not going to get it, Jonathan."

"This isn't right, Admiral." The statement hung heavy between the two men.

Forrest rubbed his face vigorously before continuing. "What would _you _do, Jon? Would you really feel comfortable allowing these Augments to walk freely about Earth?"

"This isn't about my comfort, Admiral," Archer shot back, struggling to calm his anger.

"No, it isn't…listen, you know that if there was a sliver of a chance, I'd be fighting it out to the bitter end. But we're flanked on this one, Jon. We have to save our strength for a more promising battle."

"And a group of twenty-year-old kids are going to pay for it," Archer replied bitterly. "Please excuse me, _Admiral. _I have duties to attend to." The comm link was barely severed before Archer fractured the computer panel with a firm punch.

...

_**Ba'Sugh**_

_**En route to Deep Freeze**_

Maâlîk rolled over slowly, enjoying the steamy feel of body-generated moisture in the air of Nach'um's old quarters. It was sweet and damp, the aroma of youthful lovemaking, tinged with the musty odor of the room's former occupant; a heavy fur, with the musk of _parictis _bear, was rumpled by his feet, and the graceful limbs of Pêrsîs were wrapped about him, pressing the warmth of her inner legs against his thigh.

Within a day; _no more, _Maâlîk knew, foregoing the easy calculations that could determine their remaining travel time down the minute. The _Ba'Sugh _was less than a day out of _Deep Freeze_, as the baseline humans so laughably called it. A rudimentary assault plan had been sketched out, revised, bickered over, and revised again; an exercise in futility that Maâlîk permitted, in order to keep Soong happy.

No plan ever survived, unaltered, past the first moment of action; _at least, no plan that ever succeeded. _ When they arrived, Maâlîk would modify their tactics as they went, adapting to unexpected difficulties and unexpected conveniences. And in the end, if one of the baseline humans died—_so what? _Maâlîk shrugged mentally. He would arrange for the killing to be in self-defense, a necessity of the moment.

"Mmmm," Pêrsîs murmured, dreamily, stretching her arm across his chest with languid ease. "I think you've been practicing."

Maâlîk snorted softly in autonomic reflex. "Does he seem…_different _to you, somehow?" he asked, somewhat drearily.

Pêrsîs stiffened perceptibly as she raised her head from his arm. "Who?" she asked, her voice carrying a distinct current of warning; she had little doubt who the subject was.

His gaze fixed, unaltered, on the ceiling panels overhead, Maâlîk feigned an expression of distant contemplation before responding. "Soong, of course," he answered, with assumed blasé. He breathed easily, taking care to regulate the rhythms; now was not the moment for his body to betray the inner tension, the inner guardedness, that he felt.

He felt, rather than saw, the pointed stare from his companion. "You mean _Father,_" Pêrsîs responded tightly.

"Yes," Maâlîk replied lightly. "_Father, _of course." Gently, he shrugged his shoulders, shifting his arms above his head. "He's different than what I remember."

"Different?" Pulling her leg from his draped position, Pêrsîs lifted herself onto one elbow. "_How_?"

"He's so…" Maâlîk paused, as if in contemplation. "He's so _human_."

"He _is _human."

"Doesn't that bother you?" Maâlîk asked as he raised his head, propping it up with one hand. "Father himself told us that Augments were born to lead, and baselines were born to follow."

"Yes," Pêrsîs replied, rather doubtfully, as if uncertain of his point. "It is only natural…and Father leads us." Shifting her hips, she slid across the mattress, opening a separation between the two.

"But _why_?" Maâlîk eyed her quizzically, making no move to pull her back. "Father is a baseline. _We _are Augments. And Father himself tells us that it is right and proper for Augments to lead, and baselines to follow."

"What are you _saying, _Maâlîk?" Pêrsîs drew further away, as her body trembled slightly. "He is our _father._ He is our leader."

"How can you say that?" Maâlîk responded, his voice rising with genuine mystification. "How can you swear allegiance to someone inferior to us?"

"What are you afraid of, Maâlîk?" Pêrsîs cooed as she lifted herself beside him. "Father is a _great _man. I know why you killed Raâkîn; you fooled the others into believing that he was holding us back, but I know the difference. You were _jealous _of him. _He _had the limelight. _He _had the power, _he _had the respect." She flung a leg over him and sat down, her warmth resting on his toned abdomen.

"And why?" Maâlîk shot upward in anger and fell backward, twisting under the suddenly-merciless force of Pêrsîs. "He _wasn't _the strongest or the smartest of us! He only led because Father said so! And who is _Soong _to make that decision for us? He's a baseline! He's a weakling and a fool, Pêrsîs, and it's time for _us _to throw that shackle away!"

"No," Pêrsîs murmured softly, channeling her fury into her muscles; she clenched her thighs tightly about him, taking delight as he stiffened, fighting the pain she was inflicting. "He is our _Father. _And he is greater than any of us."

"Of course." The pressure lessened, and Maâlîk eased his clenched muscles, sinking back against the slat of a mattress. Running his hands up her thighs, Maâlîk slid Pêrsîs along his body, overcoming her modicum of resistance. "How foolish of me," he muttered.

Her body arched backward in surprise as he slipped inside.


	10. Chapter 9

**Kappa-2 Monocerotis**

**10 years previously**

_There was a sympathizer in Starfleet._

_Following Dr. Soong's abscondance with twenty genetically-enhanced embryos from Cold Station 12, the Earth government—the United Earth Parliament—declared Arik Soong to be a fugitive from the law, the most-wanted person alive. But no massive search was launched to find him, for everyone knew that he had disappeared, irretrievably, into the interstellar reaches._

_Starfleet was not a law-enforcement body, the crime had not taken place on a Starfleet facility, and Dr. Soong was not a member of the service. Nonetheless, Starfleet adopted the search for Dr. Soong as one of its primary missions._

_Years passed with few developments. The warp-five program had not yet come to fulfillment, and unable to launch a proper manhunt, Starfleet investigators were reliant on intelligence-gathering mechanisms. They would only launch their low-warp shuttles when they were certain of a destination._

_Dr. Soong and his Augments never faded from the attention of the few people "in the know". _

_For Starfleet, finding Dr. Soong was a matter of pride, of restoring the agency's good name and good will with the Earth governments, and Starfleet's investigators applied a tenacity and persistence that would become the hallmark of Starfleet. They searched the heavens for years, looking for the subtle hints that would point them in the right direction. A tip-off from the Denobulan government struck gold._

_Starfleet launched its low-warp fleet into the constellation of Monoceros, identified on their charts as the destination. Not wanting Soong to escape, the operation was kept at the highest levels of secrecy; the retrieval teams were not of their destination, nor even of their target, until they were in-flight. Communications silence was enforced, and only a handful at Starfleet Headquarters knew that the fleet deployment was anything more than an exercise. It almost worked._

_Soong didn't learn until less than a day remained._

_It was nighttime on Kappa-2 Monocerotis as Soong herded the children to the escape shuttle. They had been woken up in the middle of the night, and remained half-awake, sleep-walking to their destination, and milling around in confusion._

_Soong pulled Raâkîn aside. "You must get your brothers and sisters to safety," the doctor told the tall boy, who was rubbing his eyes in an effort to wake up. "The coordinates are already programmed into the escape shuttle. It's an isolated, rocky moon far away from here. It's not much to look at, but you'll be safe—Starfleet will never follow you there."_

_Raâkîn glanced around at his brethren. Soong could see the doubt and the hesitation riding on the boy's shoulders._

"_You're their leader," Soong said, kneeling down to eye-level. He held Raâkîn by the shoulders. "You're their leader," he repeated. "You are the strongest, the wisest. They will listen to you, and follow you, because that is the natural order of things._

"_But in return, you must take care of them, and keep them safe. You can do it, Raâkîn; I believe in you."_

_The other children had slowly fallen into a rough line, snaking across the savannah to the shuttle pad. Soong stood back up._

"_I must stay here, Raâkîn, to make sure that Starfleet doesn't follow you. Lead your brothers and sisters to safety, and keep them hidden there until I can return."_

_Raâkîn nodded, barely comprehending what was going on. His world was changing rapidly, flipping upside-down, and even for an Augment, it was a lot to take in._

_Dr. Soong gave Raâkîn a pat on the back, and gently pushed the boy in the direction of the shuttle pad. As Raâkîn moved forward, his strides gradually became broader and stronger, the doubt disappearing under self-confidence. He took his place at the head of the line, ushering his brothers and sisters into the shuttle._

_As his children left, Soong spared only a moment for wistfulness, before stealing his resolve and preparing for the imminent arrival of his captors._

...

_**Near Deep Freeze**_

_**June 5, 2154**_

_How do you capture a fortress without damaging it, when its occupants would sooner blow the place up than hand it over?_

_Through speed and stealth: slip through the cracks and seize the controls before they know you're there._

Despite the value—to friends, foes, and unknowns alike—of the dangerous contents, the veritable arsenal of highly lethal pathogens, the _Deep Freeze _planetoid was light on weapons, relying instead on its sheer anonymity against the great reaches of space for its security. The last strains of hantavirus and cholera, spongiform encephalopathies, basic influenza, _staphylococcus_ and the infamous _yersinia pestis_, all were held in the cryogenic canisters of the station. A single vial, released into the air, could wipe out a quarter of Earth's population; and if inflicted on an alien species, in another biosystem, they could bring about extermination.

But only a handful of aging pulse cannons protected the planetoid. Rather, it utilized a host of natural defenses to assure the safety and inviolability of its venomous contents. The primary facility—the cylindrical structure of laboratories, bedrooms, a mess hall, and engineering ductwork—were located under a hundred kilometers of hardened, frozen rock, the only physical connections to the surface being a handful of emergency exhaust chutes. The storage canisters were buried deeper, towards the core of the planetoid, connected by a tram tunnel that could be severed at a moment's notice.

_Too deep for transporters. Tunnels lined with explosives. Emergency protocols designed to annihilate the station, rather than allow its capture. _The appearance of a bird-of-prey would undoubtedly trigger a lockdown.

And the rogue planetoid had not been chosen at random. It was an aged veteran of interstellar space—frozen to the core, inured by radiation, and coated with a spray of metallic composites accumulated during a journey through a dissipating nova. The metallic coat, in turn, had been battered with hard radiation, converting the molecules into heat-suppressant isotopes, rendering the planetoid nearly invisible. Only a dedicated sweep would notice it as being anything more than a sensor glitch; and a close analysis would detect no activity beneath the surface sheeting.

It was harder than locating a pebble in a field in the dead of night.

_Unless you have a trick up your sleeve._

"This is the Denobulan medical freighter _Dolichantha_." Sibirica pressed the earpiece tighter against her cartilage, straining to hear the distorted hail; beneath the crackles and pops of the subspace channel, a humanoid voice was barely detectable, its words too fractured to understand. "Please repeat."

She heard the voice again, scarcely any clearer; but this time, the communications buffer was able to pull a fraction of meaning from the twin broadcasts. The word _cargo _was distinct, as was _leak_; it was the third word, however, that chilled the Denobulan's blood. _Delta._

As in, _leaking delta radiation. _If the assumption was accurate—and she couldn't take a chance that it wasn't—the call was critical. Delta rays, a form of radiation generated in the matter-antimatter reaction of a warp core, could kill living cells within minutes if allowed to freely vent. Even with immediate response, the radiation could cause debilitating and irreparable neurological damage.

Despite the medical imperative, Sibirica took an extended moment, contemplating her course of action. There was little doubt that the _Dolichantha _was the closest ship; these particular parsecs were uninhabited and far from any major transit routes. But that also concerned her, she acknowledged; stumbling across a cargo ship out here was _so _unusual as to be suspicious.

And she was hesitant.

She was no medic; even though the _Dolichantha _was a medical freighter, she was only a pilot, albeit one employed by the Denobulan medical authorities. What services could she really supply? Medical aid? _Engineering _assistance? What if the unknown crew had to abandon their ship—could she justify bringing strangers onto the _Dolichantha,_ in the middle of a freight run to a classified installation? If she took them to _Deep Freeze,_ they would be detained there indefinitely; but at least they would receive top-notch medical care…the facility, after all, had no shortage of doctors.

A snippet of philosophical maxim burst into her head, echoing back and forth; _to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to house the homeless, _the maxim stated, setting out the basic obligations of any Denobulan. _To be of service, _it said.

As she weighed the options, the _Dolichantha_'s computer clicked at her, announcing that it had located the source of the transmission. _That settles it, _Sibirica decided; and taking the serendipity as a hint, she altered her course, en route to the stricken ship.

...

Needless to say, it was _not _a damaged cargo ship.

...

"_Deep Freeze_, this is the _Dolichantha, _transmitting security code." On the floor of the freighter's cabin, Sibirica lay sprawled unconscious, having been saved from death only by the directed glare of Arik Soong. Pêrsîs sat behind the helm controls, handling the communications as well; in the background were Dr. Soong and five others, with the rest remaining on the _Ba'Sugh, _just out of sensor range.

The crackling voice of the unseen dockmaster replied. "_Dolichantha_, we are currently on heightened alert. Slow to one-quarter impulse and transmit security code."

"Transmitting," Pêrsîs answered, as she punched in the requisite commands.

The seven-member assault team held their breath until the response came. "Code confirmed," the crackling voice responded. It had been a risk; the security codes were not in the _Dolichantha'_s computer banks, and Sibirica _could _have provided false codes. "You're cleared to proceed, _Dolichantha._"

_Thankfully, _Soong thought silently, grateful that the interrogation had been successful. He had not enjoyed it, but using the wrong codes would have resulted in a lockdown of the cryogenic core, sealing off the remaining embryos under countless kilograms of rock.

Under the light touch of Pêrsîs, the Denobulan freighter lowered itself to the rocky surface of the planetoid, its descent slowing as the spacecraft neared the preternaturally smooth floor of a mid-sized crater. When it hovered scarce meters above the rock, the surface parted suddenly, sliding open as if two doors granting passage within, and the _Dolichantha _settled into the camouflaged docking bay.

...

_Speed and stealth._

_And some brute force._

Nestling into the docking port, the _Dolichantha _came to a rest under the watchful eyes of Corporal William Drye. Eyeing the craft carefully, mindful of the standing security alert, the young man neared the craft slowly, his approach covered from behind by two pulse rifles wielded by twin MAD privates; overhead, their base commandant, Eric Stott, followed along with a quintet of camera feeds.

_Everything seems ordinary,_ Drye noted, as he conducted an up-close scan of the craft, searching it carefully for weapons scarring, unusual energy signatures, or anything that might indicate a danger; the _Dolichantha _was a scheduled shipment, arriving on time, with all the requisite forms perfectly filed, but there was no point in getting lazy. _Especially not when the Major's watching, _Drye reflected with a slight smile.

_Everything checks out. _Gesturing to the twin guards to shift cover, Drye stepped back from the craft, repositioning himself three meters in front of the hatchway. He targeted it, raising his own pistol in a firm two-handed grip before shouting out loudly: "Clear!"

The bay doors locked behind him.

_Sibirica_, Drye repeated in his mind, calling up the name and face of the transport pilot; according to the abbreviated bio, she was a young Denobulan woman, under two meters tall, with a comparative age of thirty-odd human years.

The hatchway jerked open noisily.

_That's not her, _Drye noted mechanically, as his mind leapt into crisis speed; he hadn't even seen the face yet, but the uniform didn't match, wasn't the pale green utilized by the transport service.

He squeezed the trigger, directing the pulse into the heart of the blur of the movement before him, but it was too late; _I'm not too slow, _he noted automatically, his brain cataloguing and muting the pulverizing pain to his abdomen. _He's that fast._

As Drye staggered backward, a boot smashed into his chest, knocking him back into the bulkhead.

The woman—it was a woman, not a man—was still moving in a blur, her actions visible by their effects. One private, his training lapsing for a critical movement, charged forward for combat before somersaulting backward, the force of a brutal kick spinning him over; he slammed, bodily, onto the floor, where he lay insensate, blood and gray matter oozing from the fracture in his skull. The second guard, his rifle aloft, squeezed off a single bolt before the assailant was on him as well; a fist to his face snapped his head backward, sending him reeling in daze, and a violent roundhouse kick connected to his chest.

The crunch of bones was audible as the second guard fell like a rag doll.

His own eyes blurring over, Drye was scarcely aware as the woman returned to him; in the halo of his vision, she looked conspicuously like an angel, a surprisingly young woman of uncommon grace and beauty, moving as if floating, her hair still flying about as if caught on the wind…_like an angel,_ Drye repeated to himself, _an angel come to take me away._

He only dimly noticed as she pointed his discarded pistol at him and fired.

...

By the time Soong stepped from the transport, the assault was complete; the guards subdued, the room secured, and along one side, next to a torn sheet of reinforced plasticine, Orîâs lay contorted inside a maze of conduits and circuitry. As the bay doors ruptured open, triggered by the emergency release, Soong gave himself the fleetest moment of pride in his children before his face hardened over, setting in a disciplined and dispassionate stare.

Around him, the youths continued to move, their swiftness marked by uncanny precision as they moved into the corridor, unleashing a flurry of fire on the overwhelmed guards within; heavy doors slammed open with a resounding clang, granting ingress to the security office beyond. Soong jogged forward, prepared to help his children with the computer codes needed to pre-empt the security shutdown; but when he arrived, scarce seconds later, Orîâs

was already relaxing in a chair, the deed finished.

"Well done," Soong murmured, himself a little surprised by the swiftness, the meticulousness, and the foresight shown by the youths; it alarmed him slightly, the realization that his children were moving far faster than he could oversee, changing tactics and strategies several times in the blink of an eye, but he shelved the concern for later. For now, there was still a task to complete.

Soong alone held the final access codes—it wasn't that he distrusted his children; rather, it gave him a valuable hiccup of time to slow the assault down, reassess where they stood, and reassert his command over the operation. But all seemed to be occurring as specified; and punching the buttons on a console, Soong inserted the lockdown commands.

_Protocol 047._ Oddly enough, the most infamous number in security codes.

The hiss of anesthesia was audible, even to Soong's non-Augmented ears; unclipping a breathing mask from his belt, he pressed it over his face, securing the straps behind his head. The mask was tied to a pony tank of air; a few hours' worth, at most, but that was far more than needed.

With a nod and a curt gesture, Soong motioned for the assault team to proceed into the core of the station. The Augments, after all, would not need breathing masks; their beefed-up respiratory systems could handle the anesthezine.

...

Dr. Jeremy Lucas. Fellow of the Interspecies Medical Exchange; a viral pathologist of the highest order and repute; added experience in exomedicine, having spent three years on Vulcan and two on Denobula before returning to Earth in the wake of the first Xindi attack; tapped as an interim administrator at the Pathogenic Analysis and Cyrogenic Storage Facility, colloquially known as _Deep Freeze._

He was a rotund man, his shape bearing a distinct resemblance to a Tellarite clad in a white lab coat. Amid the fleshy folds of his face, two small eyes were set in deep, hiding behind an archaic pair of eyeglasses with a pair of two-inch magnifying binoculars affixed in front; and beneath a bulbous nose was a thick, bristling mustache, standing out in sharp contrast to the thinning hair atop his head.

"Dr. Lucas!"

Lucas swore softly as his head darted automatically, looking away from the virogenic sample for the critical split second. On the sample dish before him, two strands of nucleic acid were dancing about each other in subtle rhythms, teasing one another with their nearness before jumping back; the actions and reactions were something beyond instinctive, far from intentional, having more in similarity with ionic attractions than any true form of life.

When Lucas looked back at the sample, the two strands had fused together. It was recorded, he knew, somewhere in the banks of the omnipresent computers; but somehow, that wasn't the same as witnessing the virogenic formation firsthand.

Lucas sighed and returned to the interruption. "Yes, what is it?" he asked, plastering a friendly smile over his irritated frown.

It was a junior pathologist, a young man of Indian-Meghalayan descent. "Our defense protocols just came on," Dr. Prabhakar answered, visibly affright.

Lucas' face, already pale, became ghostly white. "Did you contact Security?"

Prabhakar shook his head frantically. "I can't reach them," the young doctor replied, stumbling helter-skelter over the words. "The comm links are down!"

_This isn't good, _Lucas reflected, _but panic won't help._ Security at _Deep Freeze _wasn't taken lightly anyway, and the entire staff had been briefed about a potential attack; it might simply be a computer glitch, but he wouldn't take the chance.

"Initiate lockdown!" Lucas barked across the room. The other staffers, unaccustomed to such a forceful command from their boss, turned to look for a second; but the glare in his eyes sent them scurrying, slapping in commands that would isolate and seal off every bit of the station.

_We can handle this, _Lucas thought to himself, taking care to subdue his own swelling sense of panic. A veteran of many security drills, he had never before faced a genuine alert; but he quashed that part, focusing instead on the task at hand, focusing as if conducting just one more drill.

"Doctor Lucas!" Prabhakar shouted, and Lucas' head whipped around; he heard the hissing sounds as well. "It's the vent ducts!"

"What the hell?" Lucas squawked, his tentative discipline slipping away in the face of dismay. With scrambling hands, he grabbed a handkerchief, pressing it over his nose and mouth. He knew the danger; the security protocols were pumping anesthesia into the station core. He only had a little time to think, a little time to shut…it…_off_…

...

"Range, forty light-minutes," Travis reported promptly, keeping his tones short and precise; a palpable air of tension hung upon the bridge, cloaking it as if in a magnetic field. "ETA, two hours." He had just brought the starship out of warp speed, easing its path into a graceful approach vector towards the dark, rogue planetoid; the secret installation lay before him, invisible to the eye, and barely visible to the navigational sensors.

"Slow us to half-impulse," Archer ordered. The captain, unable to sit still, stood behind the helm as his eyes hunted the front viewscreen for clues. "Any sign of the Bird-of-Prey?"

At the back of the bridge, Malcolm checked the tactical sensors again before responding. "No, sir," he replied, his tone made more suspicious by the _Ba'Sugh_'s apparent absence. "I'm not even detecting a warp trail, sir."

_Now that's curious,_ Archer reflected, feeling the same trepidation that Malcolm had voiced. It was hard to believe that the _Enterprise _had beaten the Augments to _Deep Freeze; perhaps if they stopped off along the way… they wouldn't know for certain that we'd crack their destination, but why would they take the chance? Time was of the essence._

_No. _Unless the Augments had made a considerable tactical blunder—_possible, but extremely unlikely_—they would have come straight to _Deep Freeze. Which means, one, this wasn't their destination after all; or two, they arrived in another manner. _Archer's mouth twisted wryly as he found himself mentally consulting the logic of his absent science officer. _Let's assume it's the second; so how would they have arrived?_

"Captain, we're being hailed by the facility!" Hoshi's surprised voice startled Archer from his thoughts. "Confirmed, sir," Hoshi added before the captain could ask. "The security codes all match."

Everything seemed to be in order, but something felt wrong to Archer. "Open the channel," he told Hoshi, subconsciously smoothing the front of his uniform coveralls as he turned back to the viewscreen. _What's going on over there?_

...

"The _Enterprise _is answering," Orias noted, confirming the whistling _beep _of the station's comm system; the assault party, six Augments and Arik Soong, sat in the primary control room, having cracked in and commandeered the heart of _Deep Freeze._

"Ah, Captain!" Soong gave his best, warmest smile as the image of Jonathan Archer filled the station's comm screen. "I wish I could say that it's been a while."

"I wish it _had _been a while," Archer retorted, his jaw clenching visibly on the screen as he spoke. "You're not going to get away with this."

Brushing off the vague threat, Soong smirked back at the captain; Archer was playing into his hands, but the doctor wanted to give a little more rope before pulling the trap shut. "_Au contraire, mon capitan_," he replied, his voice dancing in a mocking lilt. "I'm trying to bring _life _to humanity, and _you _are trying to prevent it. Don't you see, Captain?" Soong stepped closer to the screen with a saunter. "_I _am trying to do good for humanity; it is _you _who is trying to, as you say, 'get away' with something."

"Stand down, Soong," Archer rejoined. "If you want to preserve lives, you should start with your own."

"Captain, captain, captain." Soong clucked softly as he shook his head, his ease in stark contrast to Archer's tension. "I don't think you understand the situation, Jonathan." Stepping aside from the camera pickup, he waited for the captain's reaction to the scene behind.

Archer's face underwent a rapid flurry of shock, fear, anger, and resolution.

"You see, Captain?" Soong edged back into the field of vision. With one hand, he gestured to the _Deep Freeze _doctors, scientists, and support staff lined up against the rear wall. On either side were three Augments, pulse rifles pointed at their captives. "So, _Jonathan, _just how serious _are _you about preserving lives?"

The insincere friendliness dropped from Soong's voice as he continued. "Leave the area, _now, _Captain, and they won't be harmed."

Archer swayed back momentarily before regaining his balance. "You're not a cold-blooded killer, Soong."

"What parent won't kill to save their offspring?" Soong shot back quickly, unable to catch himself. "Turn your ship around. Now!"

"_Enough!_" The barked imprecative came from behind Soong, startling the doctor as he twisted about. Maâlîk had moved to the forefront of the station's staff, and was pointing a Klingon disruptor pistol at one of the captives. "The conversation is _over!_" the young man snarled angrily, directing his ire at the bickering twosome. "You! Captain! Leave the area, or they die!"

"Maâlîk!" Soong's own voice rose in fury. "Step back!" The doctor quivered in unconcealed anger, furious at the youth, furious at his own loss of control, and furious at his loss of face in front of Archer.

Soong was stopped cold by the stare of palpable hatred and rage flowing from Maalik.

"You're still approaching the station, Captain!" Maalik barked out, turning his attention back to the viewscreen. "Leave!"

The image of Archer finally regained its own composure. "And if I don't?" the captain asked quietly.

Maalik tilted his head to a random prisoner. "Then he dies," the Augment stated, and he squeezed the trigger.

Dr. Prabhakar screamed in mind-boggling pain as his body was torn to atoms.

For the first time, Soong felt afraid.


	11. Chapter 10

_**Deep Freeze**_

_**June 5, 2154**_

"Now _leave_!"

Maalik's final, barked command echoed in the captain's mind as he stepped backward, his shoulders slumping, reeling from the casual murder. He had misjudged the situation, misread something _somehow, somewhere_; the proof was in the now-dissipated remains of the dead scientist.

But there would be time, later, for recriminations; time later to reassess his analysis, his conclusions, his consequent actions. For now, there was only one thing to do.

"Lieutenant Mayweather." Archer's voice flagged with disheartened fatigue. "Take us back."

...

"I don't have the code!" Dr. Lucas exclaimed, his voice wavering with palpable fright. He sat trussed to a chair in the station's control hub; the other captives were seated against a wall behind him, far from his line of sight. "It's kept back on Earth!"

"You know what, _Doctor_?" Maâlîk bent down over the doctor. "I don't believe you."

"But it's true!" Lucas jabbered loudly, eager to convince the interrogator of his sincerity. "When the gas was activated, the storage core was automatically locked down! The access codes _aren't _given to anyone on the station!" He shook his head emphatically, jostling the flesh of his checks. "The codes are kept on Earth!"

"Curious," Soong murmured, soft but discernable; he was pacing slowly about the room, holding a knife in one hand and pricking the tip of a finger on the other. "You know, Dr. Lucas, I was once the Senior Medical Director on _Deep Freeze,_" Soong continued. Though his tone was purely conversational, carrying not a hint of malice, Lucas still shuddered. "They gave _me_ the lockdown access codes. Perhaps…"

Soong paused mid-sentence, watching the knife as he twirled it; it seemed to bite deeper into his finger, but the doctor gave no sign of discomfort. "Maybe you simply _forgot _for a moment. There's no harm in that; humans—well, baselines," he added, shrugging, "forget things. I promise I won't be mad. But the time has come, Doctor, for you to _remember._" Soong yanked the knife away from his fingertip, its edge glistening in red.

"I told you," Lucas repeated. "I don't have them! After what _you _did, the policy was changed." Sweat ran freely down his brow as he spoke. "I can't even request it!"

Soong waved the knife point in the air, punctuating his comments as he spoke. "Do the lights in your office… 'flicker' every now and then?" he asked Lucas, flipping his voice to a superficial affability.

"Every two hours," Dr. Lucas responded, relieved to have a question that he could safely answer. "Drives me crazy."

"Faulty power relay," Soong explained, with a vague air of a collegiate confidante. "You wouldn't believe how many times I asked them to fix it. Ten years later, they still haven't done a thing. But then again…they must've had more important things, things that took ten years." Soong's voice rapidly switched to that of steel command. "Put him with the others," Soong ordered, gesturing his head towards the other captives.

"_What?_" Maâlîk's head darted around in astonishment. "You can't—"

"I believe him." Soong grabbed the stunned Augment, dragging him into a corner. "I don't know what you think you're doing, Maâlîk," Soong hissed furiously. "_I _am in charge here. If you question me again—"

"I know, I know," Maâlîk countered angrily, not quite daring to look Soong in the eye. "You have my obedience, Father."

Maâlîk's eyes burned red-hot as he spoke.

...

"I need ideas, people." Archer groaned silently as he ran a hand through his hair, feeling the slick grease and tacky sweat that left his coif a matted mess. Breaks had been rare in the preceding days, and a ship—and crew—that had been pristine just a month earlier now was now battered and enervated.

"Can't we destroy it?" Travis asked hopefully, speaking up first. With the others, he was clustered in the rear alcove of the bridge, standing around the central display console. "I mean, it would kill the scientists, too," he added hurriedly, almost stumbling over the words. "But…"

"Yes," Archer replied, giving his navigator a forgiving smile. "The staff is considered secondary. I'd like a different option, but…"

"It doesn't matter, Captain," Malcolm countered gruffly. Like the others, he appeared fatigued, his curly hair beginning to droop. "We can't even dent that thing with our firepower." His exasperation with their tactical choices was clear. "It's built like a fucking fortress."

"So what can we do?" Hoshi asked, eyeing the tactical chief.

"The only way to destroy it is from within," Malcolm answered. "And that won't be easy. We'll have to get in deep, towards the storage core. Even thermonuclear explosives would be overwhelmed by the volume of rock." On the console, the vast amounts of dense rock taunted him, teasing Malcolm with their ability to thwart his every weapon.

"How do we do that?" Hoshi replied hopefully. "How do we get in that deep?"

"If we're writing off the scientists…then we don't have to worry about the hostages," Travis added, cringing again. _Man, I sound callous today._

"You're skipping the key point," Verena countered, weighing in to the discussion for the first time. "Can an assault team board the station and plant the explosives _at all_? There is, what, how many Augments in the way?"

"That's not our only problem," Malcolm admitted. He turned to Archer before continuing. "Captain, the Bird-of-Prey must be out there _somewhere. _If we move in, they'll come after us. And it _does _outgun us."

"There's another possibility here," Hoshi said suddenly, her voice perking up.

...

One task complete—more or less—Soong turned his attention back to the central computer units, focusing the ragged, dirt-blond hair of the Augment sitting behind the console. "Tell me," Soong ordered, crossing over to join the young man.

"It's a hexadecimal password," Lôchêsh answered. His head twisted upward to acknowledge their father. "I'm creating an algorithm to compute the possible combinations, a few hundred of them. It may take a few minutes."

Soong whistled appreciatively. "I can't believe I held you back in math," he joked.

Four heads turned about to look at her. "What's that?" Archer asked, beating the others to the question.

"_Deep Freeze _has a self-destruct mechanism, right?" Hoshi waited for a nod of confirmation before continuing. "There has to be some option for triggering it remotely."

"It's worth checking on," Archer added, feeling a refreshing sense of optimism flowing into him.

Like that, the decision was made. "Hoshi, contact Starfleet Command, and track down the self-destruct codes. Malcolm, plan your assault; it's our plan B. Travis, Verena, that leaves the two of you in charge of dealing with the Bird-of-Prey. Unless there's anything else—"

"One thing, Captain." It was Travis who spoke up. "What about the scientists? Are we going to try to rescue them?"

"Don't worry, Travis," Malcolm replied, giving the younger man a slight chuckle. "No one thinks that you're trying to kill them. I'll add a rescue in with my assault plan…but realistically…" he shrugged his shoulders. "I hate to say it, but they are expendable."

"Captain, one other thing…" Hoshi hung back while the others filed out.

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"You asked me to talk to Starfleet Command." Hoshi paused for response, but none was forthcoming. "Would you prefer to talk to Admiral Forrest yourself?"

Archer sighed deeply as his shoulders sank. "Not unless I have to, Hoshi…the admiral and I aren't on speaking terms right now."

...

"There's another layer of encryption," Lôchêsh reported from the central computer console. "It appears to be on a quantum level."

"How long?" Soong barked, visibly displeased.

"Longer than I thought, maybe a lot longer." Angry as he was, Soong knew that there was nothing he could do; Lôchêsh was the best, and if he needed more time, then he needed more time.

"Keep working," Soong said, punctuating his command with a frustrated punch to the console.

...

The _Ba'Sugh _had lurked, hidden, against the veil of space for several several days, waiting for this very opportunity; and as the _Enterprise _flew past, the Bird-of-Preyeased itself out of its hiding place, stealing up behind the Starfleet vessel with the cunning of a hunter. Its disrupters fired, and fired again, spitting out bolts of green energy across the void.

...

The _Enterprise _rocked from the collision of the energy packets, relays blowing out across the ship, showering the crew with sparks; thickened smoke and superheated air blasted across the bridge, enveloping the command crew within the hellacious confines of sulphur and brimstone.

"Starboard nacelle!" Travis announced, reporting on the target of the _Ba'Sugh_'s weapons as the ship rocked again, nearly tossing the navigator from his seat. A couple more blasts would fry the nacelle, and force them to shut down the main engines.

"Return fire!" Archer ordered.

...

"He lied," Maâlîk's voice crossed the circular control hub. "Doctor Lucas, about the embryos." Maâlîk's voice had a silky lining as he handed Soong a data pad. "Station access log," Maâlîk said, indicating the contents. Maâlîk kept his display of emotion in check, but inside he was seething: if he was in control of this mission, they would have already accomplished their objective. Soong's weaknesses were causing unacceptable delays, and had nearly allowed Dr. Lucas—a mere human—to thwart their mission. You could always trust one human to fall for the wiles of another.

Soong's anger increased, but now it bore a target. Angry at Dr. Lucas' efforts at obfuscation, and angry at his own failure to see thru it, an irrational fear spoke quietly but persistently in the back of Soong's mind: _you've lost face in front of your children. You showed them that you're frail, weak. You must be strong, decisive, or else lose their obedience._

Disturbed, Soong sought to silence the thought. "Get Lucas in here," he ordered. Not only was he going to get the information he needed, but in the process, he was going to remind Maâlîk of who the rightful leader was.

...

"They fire, then move off," Malcolm reported, as the ship shook under multiple impacts. With sudden aplomb, he dove to one side as a panel blew off over his head.

The _Ba'Sugh _was dogging the _Enterprise_, following every maneuver, keeping herself out of the Starfleet vessel's weapons range. "They're trying to draw us away from the station," Travis explained at a semi-shout, his hands gripping the sides of the helm console.

...

_Dr. Soong_. Their father, their mentor, the man who raised them and guided them, had revealed a flaw, exposed his less-than-perfect human genes, falling victim to the wiles of a mere human, was hesitant, weak. Against that, the ruthless, determined strength of Maâlîk, offering to lead the Augments, not thru fancy words, but by his own actions and example.

_After all, wasn't Soong a mere human? _Maâlîk had worked hard, speaking to the other exiles, convincing them of his claim to leadership and the righteousness of his cause. _And didn't Soong himself teach that we were born to rule over all humanity?_

With a vicious back-handed blow, Maâlîk sent Dr. Lucas' head whip-lashing backwards. The station's chief of staff was tied to a chair in the control hub, his face becoming a bloodied pulp from the force of Maâlîk's interrogation. Beside him stood Câîm, gazing on dispassionately, unmoved by the atrocity in front of him.

Maâlîk reached out and grabbed the lapels of Dr. Lucas' lab coat, bringing the corpulent man forward. Dr. Lucas' head hung backwards, his body unable to summon the strength and control to hold himself upright. Both eyes were swollen shut, and blood dripped from his nose, his mouth, and a dozen other cuts. With an incensed roar, Maâlîk drew his arm back, ready to strike again.

"Maâlîk!" Soong interrupted, exercising his remaining control over the youth. Grudgingly, Maâlîk yielded as Soong stepped in front of him to address Dr. Lucas.

Soong stared down at Lucas, telegraphing fire with his eyes. "I want to put an end to this, Doctor," Soong said, his voice snarling a threat.

"So do I," Lucas wheezed, futilely trying to escape Câîm's hands, which held Lucas immobile in the chair.

"We know you can get to the embryos. You accessed the stasis chamber just last week."

"That's a mistake in the log."

Lucas' resistance impressed Soong, but he had no desire to applaud it. He needed to maintain his tenuous control over the Augments, and he could not allow them to see Lucas thwart the interrogation.

"I implore you," Soong said to Lucas, his voice not bearing a single note of imploration. "Give us what we came for, and we'll leave you in peace."

With a grimace, Lucas turned his head to one side, and muttered a few words.

"What's that?" Soong mocked. "Can't talk?" Soong leaned down to Lucas' level, placing his ear next to Lucas' mouth. Lucas repeated his comment.

Soong stood back up, glaring down at the brutalized scientist. "That language is unbecoming of a man of science," Soong taunted, masking the vehemence in his voice.

"Father." As Soong turned to walk away, Maâlîk stopped him with a hand on Soong's shoulder. Gesturing with his head, Maâlîk led Soong away from the other Augments, to a secluded section of the control hub. "Some men are braver with their own lives than they are with the lives of others."

Soong glanced towards the isolation lab, where the remaining scientists were still being held. Time was short, and while he detested torture, Maâlîk's suggestion bore a strong chance of success.

"Bring in one of his colleagues," Soong commanded. Displeasure gleamed in his eyes.

"No, not here," Maâlîk hissed immediately. "In there." The youth pointed to an upright to an isolation tube, just large enough to hold one humanoid.

Soong stared at Maâlîk, horrified disapproval etched on his face. _We are not murderers, _the doctor thought to himself. _What happened to the Maâlîk that I knew, that I raised from a baby? Is there no shred of evolved decency?_

Maâlîk gestured to a computer console, words tumbling out as he laid out his master plan. "There are thousands of pathogens stored here," he told Soong. "Some kill within minutes!"

"No!" Soong barked.

Maâlîk pleaded his case. "The longer we're in this facility, the greater the chance that more ships will come. They might not back down like _Enterprise._"

Soong gritted his teeth, and brought himself face-to-face with Maâlîk. "It—isn't—necessary," Soong said, clenching his jaw with each word, barely restraining himself from lashing out with angry vitriol.

"It's the only way to make him talk." Maâlîk whispered to Soong, as though imparting a great secret. The Augmented youth backed down only slightly. "Is one human being worth all our lives and everything you've worked for?"

Unsure of himself, unsure of his plan, Dr. Soong looked around the room at the faces of his children.

...

Several more packets of energy hit the ship, _wham, bam, _one after another; and in rapid succession, a series of explosions ripped through a bridge conduit, sending acrid smoke into the command deck. "A few more like that, we're going to be a part of this asteroid field!" Trip called out, coughing lightly.

"Hold your course." Archer spoke with steel. "Target the facility."

...

Not caring whether or not he caused any injuries, Maâlîk roughly dragged Dr. Wen from the lab, and hauled the doctor across the control room to the isolation tube, practically tossing the man into the cylinder. As Maâlîk touched the controls to close the doors, Wen, panicked, tried to hold them open with his bare hands, but was unable to stay their advance. He pounded on the walls, losing any semblance of self-control. _A disgraceful display, _Maâlîk thought to himself. _He's weak._

Dr. Lucas peered thru slit eyes, and thru the red haze, saw his colleague trapped in the tube. Giving Lucas a second to perceive the threat, Soong laid out the terms.

"Are you familiar with Cymbeline blood burn?" Soong said menacingly, fixing on Lucas with a steel glare. "The vascular lining literally…'boils away'."

"You son of a bitch," Lucas growled, showing a reservoir of strength that Maâlîk could not appreciate. "You can't do this."

"Believe me, I don't want to, but I'm out of options, Doctor." Soong punctuated every word. "The code, Doctor! Give me the code!"

Lucas sat silent, in absolute defiance of Soong's commands. In the background, Maâlîk followed the interchange closely, standing ready to fulfill his duty.

"This is on your conscience, then, not mine, _Doctor_," Soong spat out.

Câîm entered the final command into his control panel. As Dr. Wen frantically glanced around, panic causing him to hyperventilate, a hissing sound filled the isolation tube. Barely a moment passed before Wen starting coughing.

The spectators watched, unmoved. Soong bore an angered look of malevolence; Maâlîk, a steady gaze of indifference; and Pêrsîs, rattled by the violence that she had brought about. For his part, Dr. Lucas gazed on, his face frozen by the beating he had received, but emanating a calmness that escaped the others in the room.

Dr. Wen started coughing up blood.

...

Blood splattered the transparent walls of the isolation tube as Dr. Wen shrieked in pain, his body ravaged, his blood reaching the boiling point.

"His temperature's rising quickly." Soong was focusing on Dr. Lucas. He didn't want the Augments to see his own queasiness, and his interrogation of Lucas allowed Soong to screen out the suffering only meters away. "Blood pressure's approaching critical. There's still time, Doctor. Just say the word, I'll release the anti-pathogen."

In the isolation tube, Dr. Wen's skin began to break out in boils, taking on the mutilated countenance of subdermal burns. Dr. Soong grew more alarmed as the disease quickened, anxiously waiting for Lucas to break. Maâlîk looked on, fascinated.

"Right about now, his extremities feel like they're on fire," Soong hissed, "but it's the capillaries, starting to burst. Watch!" Maâlîk grabbed Lucas' hair, forcing the chief of staff to look at his colleague.

Wen was starting to moan. "Please! Let me out!" he begged, his skin erupting into tiny red tracks.

...

Soong broke first. "I'm asking you, one doctor to another," he pleaded. "Stop this!"

"I-I can't!" Dr. Lucas sobbed, his body shaking from the emotional pain.

"Is it worth this man's life?" Soong beseeched, his own body starting to quake. He would not, could not, give the order to cease the torture until he had the codes.

"I have orders!" Lucas responded, his bloodied face melting in a river of red tears.

"I can save him!" Soong begged, inches away from Lucas. "How can you let this happen?" Soong's voice rose to a screech.

"How can you?" Lucas spat back.

Soong grabbed Lucas, shaking him vehemently. "Tell me the code! The code!"

"GO—TO—HELL!" Lucas screamed, and fell backwards, becoming a blubbering mass of tears.

Soong reached the end of his fortitude. "Release the anti-pathogen!" he ordered Maâlîk, his voice rueful and resigned.

Soong's order was met with disbelief. "Father?" Maâlîk questioned, momentarily unsure of what to do. Then his purpose, his goal, crystallized in his mind. "NO!" Maâlîk responded. His father was weak, too weak to deserve his loyalty, and he would not let this—this _human_—stand in the way of destiny.

Maâlîk took his hands off the controls as Soong starred at him, panic and terror evident in the doctor's eyes. Everything else, the Augments, the embryos, the station itself, dissolved before him, and Soong saw only one thing: Dr. Wen falling to the floor of the isolation tube, miniature explosions ripping his body apart, blood everywhere.

None of the Augments moved to save Dr. Wen.

Dr. Soong ran across the room to Maâlîk's console, and pushed the youth out of the way. He frantically entered the commands, evacuating the poisonous air from the isolation tube, but it was too late. Dr. Wen fell silent as he slumped on the ground.

Dr. Soong hung his head, appalled by the scene, appalled by his own actions. Maâlîk patted the doctor on the back, a reassuring, paternal touch. Around them, Lôchêsh, Câîm, and the other Augments stood indifferent to the red mass at the bottom of the tube. After all, what was the momentary suffering of a lower life form, compared to the greater order and security that they were destined to bring to mankind?

...

The sight was beautiful.

Nestled in hundreds of spheres, filling every wall, every nook, every cranny, were embryos.

Hundreds of little lives, held in stasis for two hundred years, still glowing with the promise of what they contained.

"They're beautiful," Lôchêsh murmured, stunned by the vista in front of him. He could scarcely blink.

"I came here so many times just to look at them," Soong responded, equally mesmerized. "I remember where each of you was kept." He pointed to an empty receptacle. "You were there, Lôchêsh, right next to Câîm. Pêrsîs. Bêrîth." Soong pointed to the others. "It was so hard to choose twenty out of so many." Soong spoke with love, trying to keep the tears from his voice.

"Father?" Lôchêsh said softly, momentarily concerned by Soong's hypnotic trance.

_All those years of incarceration, the planning, the scheming, and here I am. _"I never thought I'd see this sight again," Soong whispered, gently. _Trials and tribulations. _At that moment, nothing else mattered to him.

...

"We have to hurry," Pêrsîs reminded Maâlîk, glancing around at the shaking station. "All of the embryos are loaded on the shuttle."

Maâlîk stared, distracted, at a computer panel. On it, a list of the station's virulent pathogens was scrolling by, listing maladies like Rigelian fever, Synthococcus Novae Type A, and xenopolythycemia. "Telurian plague," Maâlîk muttered to himself. "I like the sound of that." The screen changed to read _transfer complete._

"What are you doing?" Pêrsîs asked. Her voice dropped low, dangerous, distrusting.

"Identifying the most dangerous pathogens."

"You're taking them with us." It was a statement, not a question.

"Can't hurt to have a little insurance." Maâlîk pointed to the screen. "They've been transferred to the stasis modules. Take two people with you, load them onto the shuttle."

Pêrsîs nodded her understanding and slipped away down the corridor.

...

"The station's launching a Denobulan shuttle," Commander Reed reported suddenly, interrupting the brief lull in combat as the _Ba'Sugh _veered away from the _Enterprise._

Archer, already on his feet, took a step closer to the screen as if he could make it out with the naked eye. "What's going on over there?"

Verena fielded the demand. "The bird-of-prey's moving to intercept the shuttle." It was a matter of seconds before the shuttlecraft disappeared, swallowed into the bay of the Klingon warship.

On the bridge of the _Enterprise, _Archer readied himself for a return to combat, but the _Ba'Sugh _turned its rear end to the Starfleet ship; and with a flaming red glow and a clash of light, the Bird-of-Prey leapt into subspace, from therewith invisible.

Jonathan Archer slumped back in his chair. Dr. Soong, the Augments, and the embryos were gone, vanished in the void of interstellar space.

...

In the dark, soundless expanse of interstellar space, the Bird-of-Prey moved silently, fading into the background signatures of dust and radiation. The vessel's dark green colors provided an added modicum of camouflage, and its curved hull plates refracted sensor beams, giving the _Ba'Sugh _an added degree of stealth as warped to its destination.

In the bulbous head of the vessel, Maâlîk had assumed the Klingon commander's chair, which sat poised on a dais, allowing him to survey the bridge beneath. The chair was hard—harsh metal, with no padding—but Maâlîk barely noticed; instead, he felt quite comfortable.

Behind him, the doors hissed open, and Dr. Soong stepped onto the bridge. Maâlîk waited, keeping his gaze focused forwards, until Soong came up beside the command chair.

"We've crossed one parsec," Maâlîk informed Soong, finally recognizing the doctor's presence. After a second of mutual glaring, Maâlîk stood up, relinquishing the command chair to Soong. Following their confrontation on Deep Freeze, Pêrsîs had voiced her displeasure to Maâlîk; her respect for Soong was too offended by Maâlîk's outright contempt for the doctor to let it continue. Under her coercion, Maâlîk had agreed to make the effort to work with Dr. Soong. Now, the relationship between the two men was almost as warm as summer on Andoria.

"Where's _Enterprise_?" Soong asked, looking at Pêrsîs, who stood at attention beside the chair.

"They're holding position," she reported.

"Archer's not foolish enough to follow us," Soong said, almost gleefully. Despite the twists and turns, his scheme was proceeding in full throttle.

But there was an unhappy task; and Soong lowered his head, grimacing. His struggle to contain himself was evident; his anger, warring with disappointment, both hobbled by a feeling of impotence, all conspiring to thwart his poise and self-control. He took a deep breath, trying to release the pent-up stew, and when that failed, he brusquely pushed past Maâlîk and stepped to the rear of the bridge, his harsh body language punctuating his feelings.

Soong turned back towards Maâlîk, shaking a fist. "No one was to be killed," he barked, his voice nearly breaking with fury, "without my express order!"

Maâlîk held back his smile. "I had no choice," he told Soong, silkily. Assured of his status, he was unconcerned; his decision to placate the doctor was merely a tactical effort to show a façade of respect. He let a tinge of defensiveness creep into his voice.

Soong crossed the deck plates separating him from the youth. He didn't believe the explanation for a second. His voice shook, his face contorted, as he struggled to rein in his fury. "If you disobey me again, I'll lock you in the targ pit," he snarled, face-to-face with Maâlîk. "You won't see the light of day for a month! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," Maâlîk answered calmly, adding a belated "Father."

Unsatisfied, but with nothing left to say, Soong ended the confrontation, and paced back to the navigation station. Maâlîk also strolled away, and found himself on the receiving end of Pêrsîs' accusatory eyes. Her displeasure was evident.

"What's our speed?" Soong asked the dark-skinned Augment manning the console.

"Holding at warp three-point-eight."

"Not fast enough," Soong responded. He looked over the readout. "The port inducer assembly's been damaged. Go to Engineering and repair it." The last order was directed at Maâlîk; Soong wanted to remove the youth from the bridge.

"I'm not an engineer," Maâlîk answered, with the disregard reserved for one tired of taking orders from a half-senile old man.

"You're a bright boy, Maâlîk," Soong said scornfully. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."


	12. Chapter 11

_**Ba'Sugh**_

_**Somewhere**_

_**June 6, 2154 **_

_The Klingon written language matched its progenitors—harsh angles and slicing curves punctuated each symbol, in a graphic representation of the guttural, barked tones of the Klingon spoken word. It was a language designed primarily to impart information quickly, with little care given to niceties._

_Dr. Soong appreciated it._

_At the front of the Ba'Sugh's bridge, a large, vertical monitor covered the bulkhead, extending over two meters wide and a meter tall. On it was displayed a starchart, set against a standard Klingon tactical display, dividing the sector into triangles. A red-and-yellow color scheme highlighted the map, radiating outwards into the dimness of the bridge._

"_Once we're safely past Orion space, we'll set a course for these coordinates," Soong said, pointing to their destination on the star map. The course had them curving thru an extended finger of the Orion Hegemony before veering off laterally, into unclaimed space. "The Klingons call it Klach D'kel Brakt." Soong captured the harsh consonants of Klingonese with near perfection. "I call it the Briar Patch. It's a little catchier, don't you think?" he added, his face slanted in a smirk._

_Lôchêsh looked at his father, puzzled. "The Briar Patch?" the exile asked._

_Soong gave his son a genial harrumph. "You should have read more of the books I left for you," Soong responded, only half-seriously; he realized that their time in exile had been preoccupied with survival, and subjects that did not relate to their continued existence had been ignored. "The region is flooded with radiation from supernova remnants," he explained, "making it dangerous to travel through. The Klingons have never mapped it, but there are signs of at least two habitable planets inside. It's unlikely anyone will find us."_

_Maâlîk, watching and listening with disgust, couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "This is your plan?" he said condescendingly, giving the viewscreen a punctuated wave of his hand. "To hide. Again."_

_Soong shot a directed glare at the insolent youth. "The embryos need to mature in a safe environment," Soong retorted, matching the condescension, as if still lecturing to the ten-year-old boy he had once raised. _

"_Starfleet isn't going to give up so easily," Maâlîk retorted, struggling to quell the ire rising in his voice. How can the old man not understand? He thought to himself, in a building rage. Does he honestly believe that Earth is just going to leave us be, that they'll be content with anything less than our deaths? Has he gone senile? "They'll send other ships. This gas cloud won't protect us!" He waved his hand again, this time rattling the viewscreen with the force of impact._

"_All right." If the boy wants authority, then it's time for him to understand responsibility. "What course would you set, Malik?"_

_The tables suddenly turned, Maâlîk found himself stumped. "I'm not certain," he admitted, causing Soong to nod, as if his point had been proven. But Maâlîk wasn't giving in. "But I know that running away isn't the answer," the Augment declared as he wracked the deep recesses of his brain. Somewhere in there, in the midst of old lessons and unforgotten memories, a sliver of an idea seemed to crystallize. "Are you familiar with the name Botany Bay?"_

"_It's a penal colony on the shores of Australia," Lôchêsh answered uncertainly, uncertain where Maâlîk was going._

"_It's also the name of a pre-warp vessel launched at the end of the Great Wars," Maâlîk clarified, growing excited as he spoke. "The ship carried many of our brethren, including Khan Noonien Singh himself."_

_Soong bit back his retort; even though he wanted to give Maâlîk a tongue-lashing, giving in to anger would accomplish little. "Botany Bay is a myth," Soon snapped instead, directing vitriolic spit at his son. "No more real than the Flying Dutchman! There's no evidence it ever existed!" How can a rational, scientific mind believe in fairy tales? And Malik believes he can be a leader?_

"_All records of the launch were destroyed!" Malik replied angrily, voicing the certainty of a conspiracy theorist. "They didn't want to be followed!"_

_Soong sighed to himself. It's like arguing with a…well, a teenager. "Even if you're right, the ship was lost, never to be heard from again."_

"_That's exactly my point!" Maâlîk pressed for the advantage. "Khan was a great leader, but he made one fatal mistake—he ran from his enemies rather than face them! We've spent our entire lives running and hiding, and you keep telling us that 'one day' we'll return to assume our rightful place! How long must we cower? How long must we tremble with fear? How long must we withhold our vengeance? How long must our destiny be delayed?" Maâlîk pounded a fist on the console as righteous fury built. "When are we going to make a stand?" he bellowed fiercely._

_Soong starred angrily at the youth. "The matter is not open for debate!" he snapped, equally fierce. "Alter our heading," he ordered the navigator. "Set a course one-eight-four-mark-three. We're going to the Briar Patch." The doctor brushed past the Augments and through the rear doors. "I'll be in my lab!" he snapped as he left. _

…

_**Enterprise**_

_**In chase**_

His duty shift ended, Archer found himself unable to go to sleep. Too many thoughts strayed across his mind, unbidden, unwilling to quiet. _This mission is getting to me_, Archer decided, as he gave up on sleep. Rising from his head, he gave Porthos a scratch, and left his cabin, looking for the only member of the crew that he felt completely comfortable sharing his thoughts with.

For his part, Dr. Phlox sat in the mess hall, unaccompanied by any humanoids, but surrounded by enough food to feed a platoon. Ordering coffee from the drink station, Archer looked over at the physician.

"Approaching a new sleep cycle," Phlox said apologetically.

"When does your hibernation begin?" Archer asked. Unlike humans, Denobulans did not require daily sleep; instead, once a year, they entered a deep state of hibernation.

"Not for another few weeks, but I would like to increase my body mass by at least ten percent," Phlox answered, eyeing the omelet on his plate. The doctor was well-known among the crew for his culinary curiosity, and could often be found sampling the dishes from other cultures. "To tell you the truth, I'm not very hungry."

"You're worried about the embryos?" Archer asked, taking his cup from the dispenser.

Phlox nodded dejectedly. "I suppose this whole mission is setting me on edge," the doctor acknowledged ruefully.

"We're on their tail, Phlox. We're catching up as fast as we can," Archer assured the doctor.

Phlox nodded in appreciation, and changed the subject. "What brings you here, Captain? As much as I appreciate the company, I sense you have something on your mind."

Archer pulled out a chair and sat down next to Phlox. "I couldn't sleep," he admitted, mometarily contemplating the absurdity of drinking coffee to cure his sleeplessness.

"Well, I can give you something for that," the doctor said. "But I doubt that's the best way of handling it."

Archer smiled momentarily, before his face clouded over. "The Augments refer to Soong as their 'father'," Archer said.

"And that troubles you?" Phlox asked, curious.

"It made me think," Archer conceded slowly, watching the steam from his beverage twist higher in the climate-controlled air.

"Ah," Phlox answered, understanding. "Who's his real father?"

"The humans used as the biological sources for the Augments…all they did was supply their genetic material. None of them played a role in raising the first batch of children," the captain explained. "With the amount of genetic manipulation, it's arguable if they're even the 'biological' parents. Soong…raised these children as his own. His love for them is evident."

"I have five children of my own," Phlox responded. "Although…it hasn't always been easy. I haven't talked with my two younger sons in a number of years."

"How does that work?" Archer asked, feeling a wave of interest. "I mean, how do Denobulans determine who the parents are?" The captain was referring to the polygamous gamous structure of Denobulan families: Denobulans were allowed to have up to three spouses, meaning that Phlox had three wives, each of whom had three husbands. In an extended Denobulan family, this resulted in forty-two possible sexual combinations.

"One of the biological parents is the equivalent of a human mother and father," Phlox answered. "The other adults in the family are more akin to…your aunts and uncles." _It's not such a great mystery, _he reflected.

The two officers sat in silence for awhile, as the doctor picked at his omelet, and Archer's coffee grew cold.

"Sometimes I wonder if our absolute stance on it is a mistake," Archer commented.

"What do you mean?" Phlox looked up sharply in confusion.

Archer smiled bashfully, realizing that he had issued an apparent non sequitur. "We—humanity—banned genetic engineering as an instinctive reaction. You know, the fire's hot, so we yanked back our hand. But your people, Doctor, have managed to incorporate genetic engineering without…well, without making madmen. Is there something about humanity that makes us incapable of handling it?"

"What's really on your mind, captain?" Phlox pushed towards the heart of the matter.

"What do you know about Clarke's Syndrome?"

"It's a degenerative brain disorder that afflicts humans." Among other things, Phlox held degrees in exo-medicine.

"My father died of it when I was twelve," the captain explained.

"I'm sorry."

"He had frequent pain, hallucinations, he would talk to people who weren't there…Often he couldn't recognize me or my mother, towards the end of his life." Like other neurological disorders, Clarke's Syndrome not only wreaked havoc on the victim, but disrupted the lives of their family and friends, as they sought to provide emotional support during the destructive final years of their loved one's life.

Phlox understood intuitively. As a physician, he had seen the suffering firsthand. "And you were thinking, if genetic engineering had been permitted…" Phlox trailed off, encouraging the captain to voice it.

"Maybe Soong has a point," Archer confirmed. "Maybe we're denying ourselves vast medical expanses, simply out of our unwillingness to…to confront some existential questions."

"I've had time to examine his work more closely," Phlox mused. "I'm forced to admit some of it is extremely inventive. He's really quite brilliant; it's a shame such a man has to remain incarcerated."

"He broke the law. That's why he was in prison." Archer had reached his peace. "And that's why I'm going to make sure he goes back." The captain stood up, and returned his cup to the waste dispenser. "Denobula perfected genetic engineering a long time ago, but you never came close to destroying yourselves."

"Perhaps we were simply fortunate," Phlox said, playing the devil's advocate.

"Or maybe your instincts finally progressed, caught up with your intellect." Archer smiled, but his face remained troubled. "On the other hand…nothing about this mission _feels _right. Are we committing a wrong to fix a wrong?"

"What do _you _think, Captain?" Phlox pressed gently.

"I think…the only way for this mission to end is in more death."

…

_**Ba'Sugh**_

_**Somewhere**_

_The doors to Soong's laboratory slid open with a clank, disturbing the doctor from his work. He didn't look up from his work; he knew who the visitor was, and wanted to make a point._

"_Come in, Maâlîk," Soong said curtly. The youth entered the chamber, but came to a stop just inside the doorway._

"_You asked for me?" Maâlîk replied evenly._

_Now, Soong looked up from his work, and drew a deep breath. "You have to stop challenging my authority in front of the others," Soong declared, pushing himself back from the desk._

"_Can't a son disagree with his father?" Maâlîk responded innocently. "I thought we were family."_

"_I'm not playing that game, Maâlîk," Soong rejoined, anger creeping into his voice. "I'm willing to overlook the things you've done. But—you have to trust that what I'm doing is best for all of us." Soong's countenance softened. "You used to have faith in me."_

_If the old man wants to do it this way, then I'll give it to him, Maâlîk thought to himself. It's about time he hear the truth. "I was a child," Maâlîk answered. "I didn't know any better." _

_Maâlîk's response cut deep. But I deserved it, Soong thought to himself. I did the right thing—the necessary thing—when I sent them away, and stayed behind, but they were only children. They couldn't have understood how hard it was for me to lose them, how much I regretted having to do it. I'm not surprised that Maâlîk bears a grudge._

"_I know it wasn't easy after I left—" Soong began._

"_Wasn't easy?" Maâlîk snapped back. "How the hell would you know? We survived without you then, and we can do it now."_

"_Maâlîk," Soong said, imploring with his son, "I had to do—"_

"_How are the embryos?" Maâlîk cut his father off brusquely. If the old man is seeking redemption, he'll have to look elsewhere._

_Soong felt the ire rising in his throat, but choked it back. "I'll be ready to incubate the first of them in a few hours."_

_Maâlîk glanced over Soong's workstation. "You're manipulating its DNA," he said, with a hint of question in his voice. He pointed to the genetic readouts on the first embryo._

_Soong blanched. Knowing that the Augment would not respond favorably to it, he had sought to keep the work under cloak, where Maâlîk would not be aware of it, but that was now a futile endeavor: better to confront him with it, Soong figured. Give him a little reminder of his own origins._

"_These base-pair sequences regulate the production of neurotransmitters and metabolizers in their brain," Soong explained, pointing to a figure on the display panel. Malik recognized the diagrams for dehydroepiandrosterone and aromatase. "If I can modify them, aggression and violent behavior will be diminished."_

"_You're changing its personality," Maâlîk responded accusingly, his arms folded across his chest._

"_I'm correcting a defect in its genome," Soong retorted. "Genetic engineering was in its infancy when you were created," Soong continued. "They weren't able to repair all of the mistakes."_

"_Did you fix these…mistakes…in the rest of us?" Maâlîk hissed, maliciously._

_Soong averted his gaze, unable to answer the question directly. "I didn't know how to until recently," the doctor responded._

_Maâlîk's world crashed around him. He felt the adrenaline coursing to his brain, and his vision clouded around him, bile rising from his stomach, and a surge pounding in his enhanced ears. "So the rest of us are mistakes?" the Augment shouted, lashing out with a fist and shattering the surface of the display monitor. "Flawed, and imperfect? If you could, you'd send us all back to the laboratory? Why don't you tell us the truth for once?"_

"_Maâlîk—"_

_The youth had barely begun. "Is this why you want us to spend the rest of our lives in hiding? Because we're not good enough for you? Everyone else out there believes that we don't belong, that we shouldn't exist, and you secretly agree with them? Who are you to judge us?" Maâlîk pointed ferociously at the embryo under Soong's equipment. "What right do you have to tamper with their genome?"_

"_The same right I had to tamper with yours!" Soong flared in response. _

"_You don't even know that this is a defect!" Maâlîk roared, infuriated. "Maybe this is the way our creators wanted us to be! Maybe this is the natural course of our evolution, and you're holding us back!"_

"_And how would you know?" Soong replied, his body quacking as he sought to keep his fury in check. "You don't know what you would have been without our engineering!"_

_Isn't that the point? I don't know who I would have been, who I should have been! Because someone like you tampered with my genes, changed my identity, and turned me into someone I was never meant to be! Don't you get it? This—isn't—who I was meant to be! But I'm never going to be that person! You keep talking about our destiny to rule mankind, but you denied us our true destiny! My life is a cosmic lie!"_

"_How dare you?" Soong spat out scornfully. "I made you better, more perfect!"_

_How would you know?" Maâlîk's voice dropped to a spiteful hiss, and he leaned forward, his hands resting on the desk. "You're only an inferior human. As narrow-minded, as ignorant, as unsound as the rest of them. Oh, sure, you like to pretend that you're some kind of genius, but we know the truth, don't we?"_

_They were interrupted by the hail of the comm system. "Father." It was Pêrsîs. "You're needed on the bridge."_

…

_**Enterprise**_

_**In chase**_

Thus, the senior staff was clustered in the briefing alcove.

The computer panel on the central console projected lines and pinpoints of light into the air above it, each representing various star systems and flight lanes; they were supplemented by colored symbols, highlighting a tactical display of the Orion Hegemony, located almost dead ahead.

"They'll reach the Orion border in approximately two hours," Malcolm reported, pointing to the coordinates on the overhead map.

"Soong's not even bothering to cover his tracks," Travis commented harshly, offended by the display of indifference shown to the _Enterprise _and its crew.

"He knows the Orions will intercept us if we follow him," Malcolm observed, momentarily distracted by the buzz of Phlox's medical scanner. _Where did that come from—ah, the doctor's _ _checking up on the captain_. "They have half a dozen patrols in the area."

…

_**Ba'Sugh**_

_**Nearing Orion space**_

_The heart of the Klingon vessel was a maze of dangling girders, blown bulkheads, and showering sparks, partially cloaked by a fog of smoke that refused to disperse. The sounds of metallic grinding and electrical whines punctuated the air._

"_Disconnect that circuit before you power the relay," Dr. Soong commented to one of the exile crew, pointing to a secondary power conduit. "You might damage it otherwise," he added in explanation as he circumnavigated protruding chunks of metal. Maâlîk followed behind, accompanying Soong on an inspection of the battle damage._

"_Our warp trail's been dispersed," Maâlîk noted sourly, surveying the readings on a shattered console. It had taken time, far too much time, for the trail of breadcrumbs to disappear. "Enterprise won't be able to follow us." The two men lapsed into momentary silence as they ducked beneath a cascade of embers. "There's something else we need to do," Maâlîk said, coming to a halt._

_Soong kept walking. "Father!" Maâlîk called out harshly. The exile stood paused in a hatchway, his arms spread to close off the gap. "I need to speak with you!"_

_Soong came to a stop, and pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing that he was not going to enjoy the ensuing conversation. Mustering his composure, he turned back to address the youth. "What is it?"_

_Maâlîk glanced around at the repair crew, and guided Soong into a sheltered alcove. He wanted no one to overhear them. "You've underestimated them," Maâlîk whispered harshly, shielding the alcove with his body. "Starfleet isn't going to stop until they find us."_

"_What do you suggest we do?" Soong hissed irately, furious at his son's obstinacy. "Turn ourselves in?"_

"_Before we left Deep Freeze, I brought aboard two dozen canisters of biogenic agents."_

"_You did what?" Soong snarled, his shock warring with disgust._

"_We can modify a torpedo to carry the pathogens," Maâlîk replied, pride creeping into his voice. I have a plan, he thought to himself, if only the old man isn't too weak._

"_A single torpedo would never make it thru their hull plating," Soong responded disdainfully, expecting that to end their conversation. He stepped aside, intent on walking away._

_Maâlîk slid in front of Dr. Soong, cutting off his departure. "I wasn't talking about the Enterprise," the exile hissed. "We use it against the Klingons." _

_Soong looked at Maâlîk, puzzled. _

"_267 Ceti," Maâlîk explained, tossing an arm around Soong's shoulders. "It's an Orion planet, only four light-years from here. If we detonate the torpedo inside the upper atmosphere, it'll scatter the pathogen across the entire planet. Every organism on the surface will be dead within days." Soong said nothing, but pursed his lips, glaring at the youth. "When the Orions hear that humans have decimated their colony, they'll launch a counterstrike. And we'll have a clean route for escape." Or to turn around and seize control of a weakened Earth._

_Arik Soong gritted his teeth. "What you're proposing is mass murder."_

"_There is no other choice!" the youth's voice rose with conviction. "How long will it be before Starfleet turns to the Orions themselves for help in finding us? This is the only way to guarantee our survival!"_

_Soong choked down his fury, exercising every iota of strength to maintain his composure. "Go back to the bridge!" he whispered furiously, intent on ending the conversation._

_Maâlîk wasn't done. "What happened to you in prison?" he replied, matching Soong's anger with equanimity. "You're not the man who raised us. The man who told us that our lives must be preserved, that human lives are nothing compared to ours. That man was willing to do whatever was necessary to ensure our survival. You're—nothing more than a genetic traitor."_

_Soong's body shook as he bit back his full response. "Return to your station," he growled._

_Maâlîk gave the doctor one last accusatory glance, and departed, leaving Soong to contemplate his next move._

…

_**Enterprise**_

_**In chase**_

The _Enterprise _was terse with anticipation, the crew awaiting its confrontation with the Augments. The vessel's rebuilt warp core pulsed in frenetic excitement, and the engineering crew pushed the powerful engines to their outer limits, channeling the energy of the matter-antimatter reaction into the thrust that shot them thru subspace. With a top speed that exceeded the _Ba'Sugh'_s, it was only a matter of time before the _Enterprise _overtook the Bird-of-Prey, and the crew watched with bated breath as the stellar distances faded behind them.

Even Commander Reed was not immune; when the lift doors _whooshed _open, she jolted up from the command chair. "I wasn't aware that you were on duty," he said, addressing the newly-arrived Captain Archer.

"I'm not," Archer responded wryly. "What's our status?"

"Approaching the Orion border."

Archer crossed the bridge to his command chair, and pushed the comm button on the arm. "Bridge to engineering," he said as he sat down. "Are we ready?"

Smitty's voice responded promptly. "We're good to go," he reported. "All systems are functionally normally. Except for the food processors."

"Understood," Archer replied, closing the comm channel. He glanced behind him; Malcolm, having moved to tactical, sat at the edge of his chair. "Tactical alert," the captain ordered.

Archer paused for a second, and then gave his command. "Take us across the border, Travis. Warp four."

…

_**Ba'Sugh**_

_**Nearing 267 Ceti**_

_Within the closed confines of the Klingon ship, heat permeated every living cell, both Augmented and non-Augmented. Laser torches, electrical arches, and old-fashioned soldering irons radiated intensity, and the ventilation systems, never a priority for Klingon engineering, labored mightily to cleanse the air of the acrid stench of overheated metal, burning plasma, and unwashed bodies._

_With the heat and the odor, tempers flared, and it was a tribute to the discipline of the Augment crew that no fights broke out as they toiled to repair the Ba'Sugh. Their enhanced auditory senses were assaulted by the constant whine of machinery, and the taste of ashes snuck in with every breath of air, but the crew continued working at a pace only they could achieve._

_Except for Maâlîk._

_Maâlîk was working on a different project._

"_I don't have a lot of time," Pêrsîs told the Augment leader, as she stepped into the Klingon captain's quarters. Like usual, the red lights were dim, barely enough to highlight the harsh design of the room. Shadows danced around, as the coursing flows of half-broken conduits refused to stabilize. "The aft launcher's still offline, and Father wants me to—"_

"_You won't have to answer to him any longer," Maâlîk cut in roughly. He sat on the master bed, the only piece of furniture in the room; the white fur blanket gave an aura of power in the midst of the overpowering weight of Klingon aesthetics. "I'm taking command," Maâlîk with understated aplomb._

"_You can't," Pêrsîs replied softly._

"_I've already spoken with everyone on the bridge. They're behind me, but I need to know where you stand." Maâlîk stood up, bringing himself eye-to-eye with Pêrsîs. "You helped me before."_

"_That was different." At the beginning of their grand mission, she hadn't hesitated to help Maâlîk overthrow and replace Raâkîn; indeed, she was the one who put Malik up to it, whispering in his ear, convincing him that he alone was their rightful leader, maneuvering Maâlîk into his act of fratricide. "This is our Father." Pêrsîs looked at Maâlîk, pleading with her eyes._

_Maâlîk sighed softly. "He may have raised us, but that doesn't make him our father. It's not his blood that flows in our veins, or his DNA that makes us who we are. He's not one of us—he'll never be one of us. Pêrsîs, look at me." Malik paused. "He's a mere human, and whatever you think of him, that's not going to change."_

"_Don't do this to him." Despite Pêrsîs' scheming among the Augments, her loyalty to Arik Soong was unwavering, and Maâlîk's condemnation of the doctor hurt her deeply._

"_How is this any different than removing Raâkîn?" Malik retorted. "Raâkîn tried to hold us back, keep us from our destiny. It was your idea to kill Raâkîn, and he was even my blood brother! Soong is nothing compared to that!"_

"_He—is—our—Father!" Pêrsîs hissed fiercely._

"_He's an inferior baseline! Didn't Soong himself teach us that we do not take orders from our lessers?" Maâlîk halted for a moment to regain his composure. "He's given me no choice," the youth stated forcefully. "I have a plan to protect us from Starfleet and the Klingons, and he won't even consider it. He's jeopardizing our survival."_

"_Our Father knows what he's doing," Pêrsîs responded, her voice quaking as she sought to reassure herself. "He's protecting us."_

"_Do you know what he's doing with the other embryos?" Maâlîk shifted to another argument, intent on pressing his point home. He could tell that Pêrsîs was wavering. "He's altering their genome. Not to make them stronger—he's making them weak and docile, stripping them of the things that make us better. They'll be unable to defend themselves, subject to the cruel mercies of ordinary humans. He's betraying them, before they've even been born."_

"_That's not true," Pêrsîs whispered haltingly. Can this be true? Has our Father betrayed our brethren? After all he's done for us, can't we trust him?_

_Maâlîk watched as the doubt washed over Persis' face. "Go to his lab, talk to him yourself," he gently suggested. If he pushed too hard, he might lose Persis, but it was time to seal the pact. "I know how much he means to you—I have feelings for him, too. He'll be treated with respect." Pêrsîs closed her eyes in pain. "You have my word," Maâlîk promised. "Are you with me?"_


	13. Chapter 12

_**Enterprise**_

_**In chase**_

"Helm, come to station keeping." Archer spoke the words with heavy weight as he commanded the great drivers of the starship to cease their thrust, to apply braking pressure, and stop the _Enterprise _dead in space.

_Some days are worse than others, _Archer noted inwardly.

On the screen—now visible, as the _Enterprise _settled in at close distance to their target—was the unmistakable shimmer of debris, the thousands and millions of shattered pieces of hull and bulkhead, duranium and tritanium, hair-thin conduits and massive power taps wider than a Tellarite. Some glinted in the light of a distant sun, others reflected the star glow of far-gone sources, and some lay black against space, noticeable only by virtue of blocking out the background fabric of light.

"Can you identify?" Archer asked softly, unconsciously rising from his command chair and stepping closer to the screen, as if he could identify the debris by simple sight. A nearly-palpable sense of dread pounded upon his eardrums as he waited, one second, then two, then three.

"I have it," Verena Jordan stated at last, having run the analysis on her console. "It's a _Surak-_class heavy cruiser."

From the other side of the bridge, Malcolm let out a low whistle. "That's no pushover," he added. The _Surak _-class cruiser—easily twice the mass of the _Enterprise_—was one of the most powerful warships in known space. "Are we sure the Augments did this?"

Archer glanced behind him. "Confirm the weapons signature, Verena," he ordered, feeling little hope. It would take a flock of birds-of-prey to so utterly destroy the cruiser—had the Augments done it on their own?

"Confirmed, sir," Verena replied. "Weapons signature is Klingon, all from one ship. No more than four hours ago. The ID of the Vulcan ship is—the _Vralt_," she added, contemplating the rundown.

"That's a kind of Vulcan goat," Hoshi added quietly.

Archer gave the linguist a curious glance even as he spoke. "Crew complement? Biosigns?"

"Standard crew complement of 142," Malcolm replied, not bothering to check the ship's library. Even the veteran tactical officer was starring at the viewscreen, in awe of the destruction.

"No biosigns," Verena reported. "Confirming—no, I do read one biosign."

Archer felt his stomach fall. "Just one?"

"Yes, sir," Verena confirmed. "But if my readings are accurate, sir…it's human."

Unlike Starfleet escape pods, their Klingon counterparts came with few systems, stripped down to the bare essentials of life support and basic communications. The pod had no external sensors, and even lacked a viewport to give the occupant a view outside of the pod.

Thus, when the pod was hit with a loud clank, Soong was alarmed. He had no way of telling what was going on outside the claustrophobic chamber, and as the cylinder was jolted back and forth, he could only surmise that he had been captured by grappling equipment. His captors were unknown—it could be the _Enterprise_, it could be the _Ba'Sugh_, it could be a random freighter crossing deep space.

The noises stopped, and the hatchway swung open. In the light stood Jonathan Archer, flanked by a phase-pistol-bearing Malcolm Reed and a MACO guard.

"Captain," Soong said flippantly. "What took you so long?"

Archer didn't ask the question foremost on his mind. _What Klingon ship carries escape pods?_

_**{An hour later}**_

Dr. Soong paced across the brig. It had only been a handful of weeks since he had last been imprisoned there, during the _Enterprise_'s maiden pursuit of the exiles, but his world had changed since then. When once his goal was to escape the vessel, reunite with his children, and forge a new life on a distant planet, now he found himself needing the Starfleet crew to find the Augments and stop Maâlîk's genocidal mania.

"Captain!" Soong barked as Archer entered the brig's control room. "You have to alter your—"

The captain cut Soong off with a raised hand, and tapped the intercom button to open a channel between the control room and the cell. "You have to alter your course," Soong repeated, quieter, but no less forcefully.

"Is that so?" Archer replied skeptically, in no mood to trust a single word coming from the doctor.

"My children—" this time, it was a raised eyebrow from Archer that cut Soong short, and the doctor rephrased his statement. "The Augments…are planning to attack an Orion colony." Even now, it was hard for Soong to say, much less admit to a former adversary.

The captain didn't believe a word of it. "What were you doing in that escape pod?" he asked instead.

"What do you think?" Soong hissed. He couldn't believe that Archer wasn't willing to at least listen. "I was waiting for you! You're the only one who can stop them!"

Archer said nothing, replying only with a disbelieving glare. _Tell me another tale, _he silently communicated to the doctor.

"Captain, listen to me!" Soong pleaded. "I didn't come back because I missed our lively debates! Please, please, you have to do as I ask!"

"You've made it clear that you'll do anything for them," Archer retorted. "Lie, murder, maybe even sacrifice yourself." The captain leaned in closer, so that the two men were only inches apart. "Hell, every word you told us on the way out here was false! Story after story, lie after lie, misdirection after misdirection. Why should I believe you now?"

"If the Orions retaliate against Earth, it'll make the Xindi incident look like…a lovers' quarrel," Soong answered fervently, trying to make Archer understand.

Archer snorted and slapped the barrier, pushing himself away from the cell. "What do you care about what happens to Earth?" he sneered. "You believe your children are the future of humanity!" Archer turned his back on Soong and pushed the doorway button, opening the hatchway to the corridor.

"Captain. Captain!" Soong cried out, trying to get Archer to turn back and face him. "Contact _Deep Freeze_! They'll confirm it! They'll tell you that three hundred kilograms of biotoxins are missing from their inventory!"

Archer pulled to a stop, paused for a second, and turned around. "I know. They already told me about the missing toxins. And you're the only one who knew how to get them." His eyes shot daggers across the small room.

"You have to understand!" Soong implored the captain. "Maâlîk stole them! Without my knowledge!"

"I find that hard to believe," Archer rejoined. "Considering that they follow your orders."

"Maâlîk's beyond my command! I've lost control of him—he's going to use the biotoxins on the Orion colony!"

"I thought you bred them better than that, _Doctor._"

"You saw what Maâlîk did on the station!" Soong pleaded. "You know what he's capable of!"

Now Archer stepped forward, up to the barrier between himself and Soong, a new realization dawning on him. _My god, _Archer thought to himself. _Was Soong actually that blind? _"You didn't know?" he asked the doctor softly. "You actually had to see him murder someone in front of you?"

"What do you want me to say?" Soong responded. "That I'm a fool? That you were right about them, and I was wrong? Go ahead—that's what you really want to hear, isn't it? 'Off-and-wrong-Soong, fooled by his own children!' Fine—I'm a fool! Do you feel smart now, Captain?"

Archer let out a slow breath. "Tell me what happened."

_**Ba'Sugh**_

_**{Several hours previous}**_

_From the clanking, duranium-clad doors of the lab, Maâlîk entered the makeshift laboratory, flanked by two other Augments, and followed closely by Pêrsîs. The two guards took positions on either side of the doorway, standing at attention, and Maâlîk stepped to the forefront._

_Maâlîk addressed Dr. Soong with a steady command. "Father, please come with us." His voice made clear that it was not a request._

_Arik Soong took his time to look up from his work. He had been expecting Maâlîk to make a move; Soong knew that the détente established after their confrontation on Deep Freeze was impermanent, and would only last until Maâlîk's ambitions outpaced his self-control. Soong knew, too, that the bulk of the Augments supported Maâlîk; he could see in their faces that he had lost the faith of his children, the trust that had once bound them to him. But there was one thing he hadn't expected._

"_Pêrsîs?" he said softly, tilting his head. She couldn't meet his eyes. _

_Soong returned to Maâlîk, regaining his bravado. "Four of you to subdue me?" he scoffed._

"_The crew is united behind me," Maâlîk stated firmly, giving no quarter._

"_Is that so?" Soong turned his attention back to his work, picking up a flask filled with embryonic fluids. Every moment that he could stall, he could advance his plan that much further. "There's no time for this," he said derisively. "You all have work to do."_

_Maâlîk stepped forward, and took the flask from Soong's hands. "Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be," the youth said menacingly, secure in his knowledge that the guards would back him up. Maâlîk set the flask back on the desk._

"_And if I refuse?" Soong retorted tauntingly, leaning forward. "Are you going to kill me? Like you have everyone else?"_

"_No one else has to die," Maâlîk declared, shaking his head in seriousness._

_Soong nearly burst out laughing, but restrained himself to a snort. "What about the millions you plan to kill with that bioweapon?" he sneered scathingly. "Do they even count to you?"_

_Pêrsîs stepped up from behind to join the skirmish. "Please, Father," she said, holding her voice level. "There's no other way."_

_Soong only shook his head in disappointment, causing Pêrsîs to look away. The regret cut across her face like a monofilament blade, but she made no move to protect Soong._

"_Lock him in his quarters," Maâlîk ordered to the guards. The Augment leader turned and left the room._

_After the guards escorted Soong away, Pêrsîs stayed in the lab, and broke down into soft, hiccupping tears._

_Arik Soong sat in his prison, pondering the wicked road of fate that had befallen him. He felt ashamed of himself, of his actions, his decisions, and his unwillingness to see the flaws of his children. I never taught them to disregard human life, much less despise it, he thought to himself. True, they are superior to ordinary humans, but I taught them to exercise their pre-eminence benignly, for the preservation of humanity. I saw the avarice, the ambition, when Maâlîk was still a boy, but did nothing; I didn't want to believe that my son was capable of such hatred and resentment. And how is it that the others have gone along so willingly? They're smarter than this, better than this!_

_The doors clanked open, and Pêrsîs entered the room._

"_Don't tell me its visiting hour," Soong said scornfully, noticing his daughter's entrance. She crossed the room to stand in front of the doctor._

"_I'm sorry, Father," Pêrsîs said softly. "If I didn't go along with him, he would've killed me."_

_Soong nodded in understanding. Months, weeks, even days ago, he never would have seen it, but now he knew that Pêrsîs was telling the truth: Maâlîk's ambition had blinded the Augment even to the bonds of his brethren, to their sacred responsibility to never shed another Augment's blood. _

"_You did the right thing," Soong told Pêrsîs, gruff pride in his voice. "If Maâlîk deploys that weapon," Soong continued, his voice rising in ire, "he'll be confirming everything they've said about Augments for the last hundred and fifty years! I've spent my life trying to show mankind that the problems of the past were anomalies, caused by imperfect gene therapy, and that we can weed out those genes! With a little care, we can create a physically and morally advanced human being! And now—has my life's work been a lie?" Soong's tone, which had reached a fevered pitch, dropped off into a whisper._

"_Father," Pêrsîs responded pleadingly, "you raised us yourself! You know better than that! The only reason Maâlîk is this way is because humans rejected our gifts and chased us into exile! You're not responsible for that!"_

"_Pêrsîs!" Grasping Persis by the shoulders, Soong gently interrupted her. "If Maâlîk uses that weapon, they'll destroy all of you—not the genetic engineering program, not the notion of Augments, but you and your brothers and sisters! They'll hunt you down until every last one of you is dead! Lôchêsh, Pûrâh, even Maâlîk! I can't let that happen!"_

"_Neither can I, Father."_

"_You have to help me stop him," Soong said fervently, giving Pêrsîs a soft shake for emphasis. "We can sabotage the engines or the torpedo launchers, maybe—"_

"_No," Persis answered, wiping a tear from her check. "We'll never get to them, Malik's posted guards at every vital system. There's nothing we can do."_

"_Can you get me off the ship?"_

_The corridor was empty. _

"_I've disabled the internal sensors," Pêrsîs reported as she ducked around a dangling conduit. "It should be some time before anyone notices that one of the escape pods is missing." _

_As Soong followed closely, Pêrsîs came to the end of the corridor. In front of her was an escape hatch, shrouded in the shadows of the Klingon vessel. Punching the controls, she opened the inner door, allowing the doctor to reach in and pull open the hatch itself. The escape pod was small—a cylinder, barely two meters tall and less than a meter in diameter, just enough room for a humanoid to lay down. In keeping with Klingon design, no effort had been made to provide a carpet, or mattress, or any other padding: there was just bare metal. Without hesitation, Soong entered._

"_Be careful," Soong said, turning to say goodbye to Pêrsîs. "He might suspect you." He grabbed her hand and gave her a kiss, trying to reassure her that everything would be okay. _

"_It's okay," she replied; as soon as her father was off the ship, Pêrsîs herself would be crawling in the second escape pod, leaving the Ba'Sugh behind to start a new life, somewhere out there in the borderless expanse of stars._

_But she worried for her father, and with a scared look on her face, Pêrsîs stepped back, swinging the hatch door closed. From the belly of the Bird-of-Prey, the little tube dropped out, falling immediately from warp speed into normal space, where it lay in wait for a savior._

Soong stepped away from the barrier, his ire spent. "Things would have been different if I'd been there for them," he muttered ruefully. "If Starfleet hadn't locked me away, if I could have completed their education."

"You just don't _get it,_ do you, Soong?" Archer replied. "None of that would have mattered in the end. You can't breed human nature out of us. It's not rooted in our genes—it'll always be there; it's a part of what makes us human beings!"

"Then humanity is _doomed, _Captain!" Soong barked back. "War, hatred, fear—if you put your trust in humanity to overcome its own nature, you're a greater fool than I am!"

Archer's temper flared back. "Where have you been for the last century?" he hissed. "We haven't had major war—_any war—_in over a hundred years! Hunger and poverty are almost _gone_! Humanity is working towards greater cause than its own greed and self-satisfaction!"

"It's a _façade_, Jonathan, a bloody _façade_!" Soong shot back. "Every time humanity starts making progress, it always lapses back into barbarity! Look at the Xindi attack—one terrorist strike, and people live in fear again, striking out at shadows behind bushes and under rocks, ready to condemn anyone who's different!"

Soong continued vehemently. "One century they burn 'them' at the stake, another century they torture 'them' in hidden prisons, and now, if the Xindi struck again—can you honestly tell me that Earth wouldn't give in, again, to its fear? That it wouldn't send its resident aliens to detention camps, and its leaders wouldn't preach that your principles must be sacrificed in the name of security? That the only way to secure peace is thru constant war, the only way to secure freedom is thru the abdication of liberty, and the only way to be strong is by refusing to listen, dwelling in ignorance?"

Soong snorted triumphantly. "All it takes is a little push, and inhumanity surfaces triumphant. Does that sound like your grand, enlightened society?"

"You know what, Soong?" Archer retorted scornfully. "I actually pity you. You're so obsessed with getting to the destination, that you've lost sight of the journey, of the progress we _are _making. You see, Doctor, I was on the Xindi mission—I _led _the Xindi mission. And when we found them, you know what we did? We didn't fire back. We didn't lash out and try to annihilate them. Even after what they did to us, we _chose _to hold out our hand and work with them to find a cooperative result.

"Yes, Soong, human nature is always going to be a part of us—but we _choose _how we react to it. We _choose _if we give in to it or overcome it. It's not easy, and we have a long road to travel, but I have faith in humanity's ability to grow past its worst impulses."

"But what if humanity fails?" Soong shot back.

"Superior genes breed superior ambition," Archer stated, as if an article of faith.

"Do you really believe that, Captain? Or are you just repeating something that makes you feel better?"

"What do you mean, Soong?"

"Just this, Captain: do you believe that human nature is determined by the composition of our genes?"

"Of course not, Soong. Some of it—"

"So why would altering a few genes alter human nature? It wouldn't. I _know _what Khan Noonien Singh and his supermen did—or tried to do. But I also know this: changing their genes didn't enhance their ambition. You can't have it both ways, Captain. You can't claim that human nature isn't a matter of genes—which you _just _did—and then blame Singh's ambition on his genes. And if you claim that baseline humans can overcome their nature, then why can't augmented humans? The differences are purely _physical,_ after all.

"What it did was give them a _justification_ to act upon their inherent nature—the same inherent nature that _you _possess, Captain. _That's _why baseline humans fear the Augments so much: because you're staring in a mirror, and you see something that upsets your delicate notions of who you are. So you try to demonize them, pretend that they're some perverse 'other.' But those Augments are every bit as human as you or me; sure, their physical attributes are somewhat different, but what lies inside—is fundamentally human. _Now _do you understand why I was imprisoned? That human nature—we _can't _change it.

"Think about this, Captain: twenty _children, _dozens of light-years away from Earth. What danger were they? They're _children, _Captain. What _have _they done to you?...And yet you're going to kill them anyway. Aren't you? Can you stand there, facing me, and honestly say that they'd be allowed to enter society, to walk down the street like normal people? No! I know what's going to happen, _Captain. _You're either going to seal them away for the rest of their lives, or you're going to flat-out _kill _them. You speak to _me _of enlightened ideals. But doesn't it sound like you're full of the same old bullshit?"

_**{Later}**_

Archer looked up from his data padd as Commander Reed entered the captain's ready room. "Malcolm, what do you know about Soong's trial?"

"Not much, Captain." Malcolm paused, just inside the threshold of the doorway, uncertain of the reason for his summons. "Just traces that I've picked up here and there. And there wasn't a trial, really; the prosecutors didn't want to give Soong a chance on the stand." He knew considerably more than that, albeit mostly word-of-mouth; the proceedings surrounding Soong's trial, conviction, and imprisonment were need-to-know, and Malcolm's old section of Earth Intelligence was _not _'in the know.' "They gave him a favorable plea deal to keep him from talking."

Archer nodded somberly. "They gave him an incentive to keep him silent."

"I suppose so, sir," Malcolm agreed, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "If I may ask, sir…what can I do for you?"

"Malcolm…I've been thinking about giving him a recorder."

Suppressing his surprise, Malcolm resorted to the old soldier's default answer. "Sir?"

"Soong," Archer clarified. Pushing his chair back, the captain rested his hands behind his head. "I'm thinking of giving him a recorder, let him record some thoughts before we return him to prison."

"Sir, are you sure that's a good idea?" Malcolm queried cautiously, his tone embodying only a hint of the danger he felt. "I imagine Starfleet wouldn't approve."

"They haven't told me not to," Archer replied flippantly.

"I imagine that some powerful people would stop you."

"He has the right to tell his story, Malcolm," Archer answered quietly. "Are we going to conspire to silence him? Must we incarcerate his _words _as well?"

"Captain…he _agreed _to the terms of the deal." Malcolm could feel a sense of panic welling within. Was it concern for his duties? His values? The safety of his captain, who didn't understand the dangers of his proposal? Malcolm quashed the panic, harshly, seeking to give no hint of his inner fear. "To re-open it is…a veritable Pandora's Box."

"Something very wrong is taking place, Malcolm," Archer replied quietly. "And we're being asked to be a part of it. These—these _kids_—their actions have been consistent with someone trying to avoid illegal detainment, nothing more. And yet we're declaring _them _the outlaws.

"Think about this, Malcolm." Archer wheeled his chair back up to the desk. "Imagine that I took a ten-year-old kid out of an average school classroom, and told you that I knew, as provable fact, that the kid would grow up to commit a lifetime of heinous crimes; and I was so certain of it, that it justified arresting him today and locking him up for the rest of his life. What would you say?"

"I…would say that you're full of shit," Malcolm admitted. "But that's different."

"Is it?" Archer leaned across the desk, splaying his hands wide. "Now imagine that it's a twenty-year-old. And up to this point in his life, this person has committed no cognizable crimes. Wouldn't we consider that a _gross _violation this person's rights? So if we go to arrest him, and he fights back…aren't _we _the ones at fault?"

Malcolm shifted again, uncomfortable with the line of thinking. "But these are extreme circumstances, Captain."

Archer grunted in response. "Extreme circumstances can't justify extreme measures, Malcolm…if they can, then we'll soon discover that _every _circumstance is somehow extreme."

"So what do you propose, sir?" Malcolm asked, finally regaining some sense of balance. "That we let them go? That we take their word that they'll mind themselves? And five years from now, when we're following the trail of bodies…what do we say then?"

"On what basis are you assuming that they'll continue to attack and pillage?"

"Can we afford to take the chance, sir?" Malcolm rejoined. "They've already shown a propensity for violence."

"Yes, but under—" Archer grimaced. "Under _extreme _circumstances."

"They've been raised to hate us, Captain; us, our way of life, our values and traditions. They've been conditioned to destroy us," Malcolm added, cursing his own words even as he scrambled for additional footing. He was only trying to protect the captain from naiveté; not naiveté regarding the Augments…but about certain people back on Earth.

"And on what basis do you assume _that_?" Archer replied softly.

Unwilling to state the truth, Malcolm clenched his jaw shut, opting to say nothing at all; for he had no factual basis for such an assertion.

Archer nodded slowly, as if weighing the scales in his mind. "You're right, of course," he acknowledged. "At this point…we have to arrest the Augments. But I'll for damn sure make certain that the people of Earth learn of it." The captain shifted back, implicitly discharging Malcolm from the room.

Malcolm closed his eyes briefly. "There's one more thing, sir," he added, pained to bring it up.

"What is it, Malcolm?" Archer's tone conveyed brooding displeasure.

"When we catch the Augments…well, sir, even if we…kill them, we have to make certain that the Orions don't recover any genetic remains."

Archer's back went stiff. "What are you suggesting?" he barked out, shock beating temperance.

Hot air and burning eyes fell upon Malcolm, but he stood straight at parade rest. "We have to be prepared, sir. There's a lot at stake."

Archer's eyes narrowed. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"We should equip a torpedo with a radioactive warhead, and keep it prepped for launch. That way, if we kill the Augment ship, but can't recover the debris, we can launch the warhead into the middle of the debris field—and irradiate the remains." Malcolm cringed, waiting for the rejoinder.

The captain's voice fell dangerously quiet. "Something about that sounds…remarkably barbaric."

"But necessary, sir."

"Make the preparations, Malcolm." As the commander left the room, Archer sank back in his chair, drowning under the weight of self-disgust.

"How's the patient?" Captain Archer asked as he entered sickbay. He didn't need to be more specific; only one patient still remained under Doctor Phlox's care.

"He's not doing well," Phlox responded. The Denobulan's face looked unusually drawn and tired; his gaze, avoiding the captain, reached across the room to fall upon the shallow shape of Bêrîth. "The genetic damage is too severe. He's dying, Captain."

"How long, Doctor?" Archer asked softly.

Phlox gave a human shrug. "Two days, maybe three. Captain…" he added, hesitantly, "Dr. Soong stopped by. Under guard, of course."

The moment of silence stretched on, neither man willing to broach the question. "What is it, Phlox?" Archer asked finally, knowing—absolutely knowing—that he didn't want to hear the answer.

"Soong thinks he can save Bêrîth—or at least, give him a chance." The doctor found a fierce, unyielding strength as he spoke. "But it'll require genetic work."

It pounded in Archer's mind as he closed his eyes, debating what to do; but somewhere, welling up from within, came the answer. _Sometimes all we can do is to do the next right thing._ "Okay, Doctor," he answered softly. "I'll approve it."


	14. Chapter 13

_**En route to 267 Ceti**_

_**{June 10, 2154}**_

The _Enterprise _thrust its way thru subspace, the warp engines throbbing mightily as they surged forward. No sign of the _Ba'Sugh _had been detected, and their time was rapidly dwindling. The crew had no other cards to play—if the Bird-of-Prey was going a different direction, or simply had an insurmountable lead in front of them, they would be unable to stop the approaching Armageddon.

"How long can we sustain warp five?" Soong asked brusquely. With Archer's permission, he had joined the senior staff in the situation room, at the rear of the bridge.

"As long as the captain wants it," Malcolm responded, equally brusque. "Or until we blow up, whichever comes first." They had long since passed the red line, but there was no rest for the overtaxed drive. The _Enterprise _was in the chase to the finish.

…

Aboard the bridge of the _Ba'Sugh_, Maâlîk had gathered his crew: around him, arranged in a semi-circle, were his blood brethren, those he had been born with, grew up with, fled to exile with. They had followed him back, stood behind him every step of the way, and they stood now, proud and ready for what awaited him.

"My brothers and sisters, those of my blood and genes, listen to me!" Maâlîk called out. "A solemn hour is about to strike in the history of our people! For many months, the wheel of destiny, the impulse of our calm determination, have marched towards this goal, and in these last hours before we strike, the rhythm has increased, until nothing is left to stop us!"

Maâlîk stepped around the semi-circle, stopping at each member of his crew to shake their hand, grip their shoulder, pat them firmly on the back. "For twenty years, we have waited! We have been patient, hiding in exile, while the circle tightened around us at the hands of those who wish to suffocate us! But the time has come for us to rise up, to strike back, and stand for ourselves! To acts of war, we shall answer with acts of war! A people, a race worthy of our past and name, cannot and never will take a different stand!"

Maâlîk forged on, hitting his stride. "Earth has hunted us, persecuted us, denied us our birthright, condemned our very existence, as though _they _have the right to pass judgment on _us_! Today we say, no more! If they want a war, then we shall unleash the dogs of war! And when the fires have swept the heavens, and the waves of death have pummeled the ranks of the subaltern, leaving them moribund in the seas of their own destruction, stripping from Earth the quaking veneer of civilization, we alone shall stand triumphant!

"By launching this attack—here, today—we set in course the wheels of history that will culminate with our victorious return to our rightful place as the rulers of humanity! It—is—our—destiny!"

Around him, the voices of his brethren raised as once, bellowing in victory.

...

_**{A couple hours later}**_

"There's a ship approaching at high warp," Tûrêl reported as Maâlîk entered the bridge, followed closely by Câîm. He stepped away from the command chair, yielding it to Soong.

"Have you identified it?" Maâlîk asked as he sat down.

"It's the _Enterprise_," Tûrêl answered.

"Let's see them." The viewscreen flickered, and seconds later, it coalesced into an image of the sleek Starfleet ship.

"Maâlîk," Câîm interrupted, concerned. "The _Enterprise can_outrace us." The _Enterprise _was coming up from behind the _Ba'Sugh_, gaining distance on the Bird-of-Prey as they flew. Outrunning the Starfleet ship was not an option, especially not with their weak aft defenses; sooner or later, the Augments would have to turn around to confront their pursuer.

"Increase speed," Maâlîk ordered. "Prepare to come about."

…

Jonathan Archer projected an air of calm. Around him, the bridge crew sat, poised tensely, ready to react at a moment's notice, but the captain was intent on trying, one last time, to settle things peacefully.

However, it would be foolish to go in unprepared. "Arm torpedoes," he told Malcolm. As the tactical chief carried out the order, Archer turned to Hoshi. "Open a channel," he said calmly.

A melodious tone signaled that the comm channel was opened. "This is Captain Archer," he stated. "Drop out of warp or we'll disable you."

The exterior of the _Ba'Sugh _vanished from the viewscreen, replaced by an image of the Klingon bridge, largely obscured by the camera's focus on Maâlîk. The comm transmitted the Augment's response. "Pretty confident for a dead man, _Captain_." Maâlîk's attention shifted, and he issued a command an Augment, outside of the comm's visual range. "Aft torpedoes," the leader ordered. "Target their propulsion systems."

…

The bridge lights flickered as the _Enterprise _rocked with the impact of the first salvo of torpedoes. "Forward plating's holding," Malcolm reported, surveying the readouts on his console. "Looks like it was a warning shot."

"Let's make ours count," Archer responded. "Malcolm, return fire, full yield."

…

A full brace of photonic warheads leapt thru space between the two vessels, and slammed into the aft quarter of the _Ba'Sugh_. The impact sent electrical surges thru the Bird-of-Prey, blowing out relays and conduits across the ship.

"Aft shields at fifty percent," Pûrâh reported promptly, ignoring a small explosion over her head.

The Klingon ship shook with the impact of more photonic warheads, and the internal explosions increased, causing the bridge to quickly fill with the acrid scent of electrical fires. An air conduit ruptured with a powerful howl, shooting gas across the bridge. Under the dim red lighting of the Klingon vessel, the combination gave the bridge the visual impact of a haunted graveyard.

"Our warp field's fluctuating!" Lôchêsh reported, alarm clear in his voice. "They're concentrating fire on our engines!"

"Maâlîk!" Another voice cut thru the din. "Two-six-seven Ceti is dead ahead! Bearing zero-four-two-mark-three-four!"

"Helm, alter course!" Maâlîk barked, gripping the arms of the command chair. Another round of warheads hit the bird-of-prey, sending it slaloming on its new bearing. Momentarily, the vessel straightened out, and shot towards the system, taxing the warp engines for every iota of speed possible, forgoing evasive maneuvers in the effort to reach shelter. The _Enterprise _continued to bear down from behind.

It only took minutes to cross the gap of space. "We've reached the coordinates!" Tûrêl shouted out, struggling to make himself heard over the harsh, bellowing ruckus of alarms.

"Take us out of warp!" Maâlîk ordered, his knuckles by now white. On the viewscreen in front of him was a massive, blue gas giant, with two moons visible in orbit.

…

"There are three population centers," Lôchêsh reported, pointing to the map of the planet below. The image of 267 Ceti rotated on the rear monitors of the bridge, overtly sketched with false-light isolinear curves denoting elevations across the planet's surface. "Two here—and another one on the northern continent." The Augment's look was one of prideful anticipation as he awaited, and received, Maâlîk's approval for his work.

"We'll detonate the torpedo over the southern hemisphere," Maâlîk decided, studying the map. "That'll ensure the maximum number of casualties." He reached out, stabilizing himself, as the bird-of-prey shook again under the impact of the _Enterprise_'s weapons. " Is the weapon ready?"

"We've modified the warhead," Lôchêsh affirmed, "but we need to test the guidance systems before we can—"

Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing alarm of the sensors. "Increase to maximum speed and load the torpedo!" Maâlîk barked out, the command soaring over the battle racket. "Stand by to fire as soon as we drop out of warp."

"But the guidance system—" Lôchêsh started to ask with a hint of panic.

"Do as I say!" Maâlîk barked, and Lôchêsh, acknowledging the order, returned to his post. Time was at a premium, and Maâlîk knew that, even if the warhead went off-course, the sheer virulence of its payload would still ensure catastrophic casualties. It may have been a bet, but he was playing with a stacked hand.

And when the Orion colony was destroyed by humans…humanity would look to the Augments for protection.

…

The Starfleet vessel flew into the system only minutes behind the Bird-of-Prey, straining its systems to their breaking point in the effort to pull every last iota of speed from its brawny engines. Inside the hull, the crew could feel the superstructure start to quake with the reverberations, as the inertial dampeners passed their threshold, and cacophonous alarms blared across every deck of the ship, assaulting the auditory senses of the crew.

On the bridge, telemetry data scrolled across the main viewscreen, showing the distance separating the _Enterprise _from the _Ba'Sugh_, as well as the relative speeds of the two vessels. Archer watched as his ship gained, edging closer and closer to its target.

"They've detected us!" Verena reported from her station, raising her voice to be heard over the bedlam. "They're accelerating!"

_Dammit! _"Stay with them, Travis!" Archer ordered.

"Smitty to bridge!" The engineer's voice came over the intercom. "If we go any faster, the nacelles are going to fly off the pylons!"

Archer turned to Malcolm. "How long until we're in weapons range?"

"Two minutes," he said, running rapid calculations, "but the Bird-of-Prey will reach the colony in seventy-three seconds."

"Smitty!" Archer called out. "Even if it blows the engines, we have to close that gap!"

"I heard, Cap'n," Smitty responded. "I'll give you everything I can get!"

…

Scarce seconds later, the _Ba'Sugh _dropped out of warp with a flurry of light, and settled into orbit around 267 Ceti, still a critical distance ahead of the pursuing _Enterprise_. "How much longer?" Maâlîk growled as he paced the bridge.

"Guidance is still offline," Lôchêsh answered. "We'll need to get closer."

"Take us into low orbit!" Maâlîk hissed, inwardly seething. Precious seconds were ticking away.

…

"They're preparing to fire," Verana reported as her ears were assaulted by the violent hum of the strained hull. The _Enterprise _was shaking at the seams.

"Travis?" Archer asked, watching the telemetry readings flip by.

"Another fifteen seconds," Mayweather confirmed.

"Take us out of warp as close as you can. Malcolm?"

"Weapons are standing by," Reed verified.

"Ten seconds," Verena stated. Archer compared the readings, and realized, to his horror, that for the want of three seconds, they would be too late.

…

Ahead, the _Ba'Sugh_ settled into lower orbit of 267 Ceti.

"Torpedo's ready," Lôchêsh confirmed, awaiting the order.

Maâlîk spoke without hesitation. "Fire." The Bird-of-Prey ejected a solitary torpedo from its front tube, sending the lethal package arcing towards the planet's surface below.

...

**Main Bridge, **_**U.S.S. Enterprise**_

"Dropping out of warp!" Travis reported as the massive deceleration sent brutal waves of inertia thru the ship. Lt. Mayweather was nearly flung from his seat, holding on only by the grip of his fingertips.

"They've launched the weapon," Verena added with near-Vulcan poise. "It will reach the atmosphere in twelve seconds."

"Malcolm!" Archer shouted, trusting that his tactical officer would understand the order. Triggering his controls, Malcolm launched three photonic torpedoes after the glowing light of the Augment warhead.

"They're gaining!" Malcolm reported as he switched the main viewscreen to show the torpedo chase. The Starfleet weapons were no more advanced than their counterparts, but Malcolm was using every trick of parabolic descent and vectoring to gain distance on their target.

Unable to do anything more, it was pure agony for Jonathan Archer as he watched the torpedoes arc around 267 Ceti's horizon.

…

"They're gaining on our warhead!" Lôchêsh shouted, feeling the alarm coursing thru his body.

"How close? _How close_?" Maâlîk barked back, and when Lôchêsh didn't answer, Maâlîk shoved his brother away from the weapons console and checked the readings for himself.

Unable to do anything more, it was pure agony for Maâlîk as he watched the Starfleet torpedoes intercept and destroy his warhead.

…

"Direct hit, Captain!" Verena confirmed, double-checking her sensor data. "Detonation at forty-three thousand, four hundred and fifty-three kilometers altitude—no danger remains to the planet's surface!"

As she finished her report, the _Enterprise _rocked with the impact of disruptor fire. "Hard about!" Archer ordered as Lt. Mayweather brought the vessel into a corkscrew turn, trying to evade the weapons fire of the more-nimble Bird-of-Prey. The Augments fired again, and explosions ricocheted across the bridge as power conduits overloaded and blew with percussive force.

"A direct hit to the Armory!" Malcolm shouted over the battle din. "We've lost all hull plating, and the torpedo launchers!"

"What about the phase cannons?" Archer yelled in response, as he staggered across the bridge to the tactical station.

"The aft cannon's online, but just barely," Reed reported, yanking a hand back as a monitor exploded in front of him.

"Lock onto their bridge!" Archer ordered.

"No, no, no!" Soong broke in, shouting, and pushed the captain away from the weapons controls. "Let me talk to him!" Soong pleaded desperately, trying to save his children from their soon-to-be-certain fate. Archer granted his permission, and Hoshi opened a comm channel. "Maâlîk!" Soong called out. "Maâlîk, it's Father!"

When he got no response, Soong pushed on. "Don't do this!" he begged. "Some of your brothers and sisters are still alive!"

Maâlîk's whispery voice returned over the audio channel. His brutalized vocal cords gave him the harsh rasp of a voice from the dead. "Would you rather they go to prison with you?" the youth hissed.

"Maâlîk! They won't go to prison!"

"Then what _will _happen to them?" Maâlîk bit back. "Are they going to be welcomed back into society with open arms, with trusting hearts? Or are they going to be greeted with suspicion and fear, loathing and hatred, discriminated against every time they try to better their lives? Or even worse—will they be sent right back to stasis? We're not welcome on Earth, but if we try to leave, we're hunted down like rabid dogs!"

Captain Archer broke in. "Maâlîk, listen to me! We can work this out peacefully!"

"Really, Captain?" Maâlîk's disembodied voice growled back. "Tell me this, Captain—what place is there for us in this brave new world of yours?"

Archer fell silent.

…

"They've lost all hull plating," Lôchêsh confirmed as he checked his readings. "Main weapons down, their maneuvering thrusters are off-line—they're adrift!" the Augment youth reported excitedly.

_At last, _Maâlîk thought to himself. _Those pathetic humans should have known better from the start. _"Target their warp core!"

…

"Stand aside, Doctor!" Archer growled, roughly shoving Soong away.

"Captain, their bridge is protected with dispersive armor—your weapons will never penetrate it!"

"So what do we do, Soong?" Archer retorted. "Let them go?"

"No, target your cannons here!" Soong pointed to the schematic on Malcolm's console. "Behind their sensor array!"

"What good will that do?" Malcolm asked brusquely, grabbing his chair as the bridge rocked again.

"Their main plasma junction's located there!" Soong explained quickly. "A direct hit would disable their entire power grid. Captain—trust me!"

_Trust him? _Archer thought, but made his decision. "Do what he says. Fire when ready!"

Across the void, the red light of _Enterprise_'s lone-remaining phase cannon lashed out at the _Ba'Sugh_, hitting the Bird-of-Prey with unerring precision. A wave of explosions rippled across the hull of the Augments' ship, and inside, power cables blew with a fury, throwing the crew around like rag dolls, and instantly starting fires in every system of the vessel. Losing helm control, the _Ba'Sugh _spun around, venting atmosphere from a dozen hull breaches.

"They're disabled," Verena shouted out, an air of relief evident in her voice.

"Are they still alive?" Soong asked, frantic with concern.

Verena checked her data. "I'm reading twelve biosigns," she told the doctor.

…

On the bridge of the _Ba'Sugh_, Maâlîk slowly woke up, a pounding beat throbbing in his head. He quickly took stock of his own situation. It was only his augmented DNA that was even keeping him alive; he knew he had a broken leg, several cracked ribs, third-degree burns, and if his bloody phlegm was any indication, severe internal bleeding.

Satisfied that he was, at least, alive, Maâlîk struggled to survey the bridge around him. Dragging himself across the deck plating, he saw no one else moving; the other Augments lay in various contorted positions, some with shock written across their faces, and others with the calm peace of death. The bridge was devastated; fires openly roared from blown panels, structural beams dangled from the ceiling, and even the alarms had been silenced.

…

"He's overloading his dilithium matrix!" Malcolm shouted out in alarm. "We're too close. We'll be caught in the explosion!"

His head whirling about, Archer didn't hesitate. "Fire!"

Soong watched in mute horror as the _Ba'Sugh _tore itself apart.


	15. Epilogue

"Captain! Three more ships approaching!"

_Shit. When it rains…_Archer discarded the useless thought as he fell back into his command chair, gripping the arms and preparing his orders. "ID them!" he barked out.

"Orion!" Verena answered heatedly. "On an intercept course!"

Across the bridge, Malcolm added his tactical report. "Two light cruisers, and a heavy cruiser."

Archer scowled. A single Orion cruiser was more than a match for the _Enterprise_. What would it take to escape three?"

"How long until we're in visual range?" he asked, taking stock of the tactical situation.

"Two minutes," Verena replied.

_Very well,_ Archer thought to himself. _It's a long shot, but let's give this a try. _He turned to Lt. Sato at the comm panels. "Try to raise them, Hoshi," he said.

"They're hailing us," Hoshi reported promptly.

The captain squared his shoulders, and nodded to Hoshi. She opened a visual channel.

Archer groaned. The green, beefy face onscreen was covered in metallic studs and barbells.

…

"How curious to meet you here," Vatis'Kish observed slowly, leaning into the viewer as the the words trickled from his mouth. "First on one side of the hegemony, now on the other…what could you possibly be doing?" he asked with languid insouciance. It was a rhetorical question, really; he had viewed the battle on long-range sensors.

The human captain, Archer, squared his shoulders onscreen. "We were taking care of—an internal issue," he declared, somewhat grandiosely in the Orion's judgment. "I apologize for any transgression of Hegemony territory, but it was necessary. These—terrorists were planning to attack your colony on the planet below."

Vatis'Kish eased himself back into the plush cushioning of his command chair. "And who _were _these terrorists you speak of?" he replied, affecting a temporary air of blithe ignorance. "They couldn't possibly be Klingons, after all."

The human captain shifted uncomfortably. "They were a group of renegade humans. As I said, it was an _internal _issue. But we've taken care of it; there's no need to concern yourself."

Vatis'Kish smiled grimly. "I'm always concerned, Captain, when human genetic augments try to annihilate an Orion world."

…

Archer felt the blood drain from his face. "The important thing is that we stopped them," he replied, sputtering a bit as he scrambled for words. "That, if nothing else, should prove that our own presence here is benign."

"Yes, indeed." Menace flowed from the giant's face as he leaned forward, swelling to fill the screen. "And that is why I will allow you to leave alive."

"He's terminated the comm channel," Hoshi reported a moment later, and the Orion's face disappeared. The curved horizon of 267 Ceti, and the field of stars beyond, once again filled the fore of the bridge.

Resisting the urge to fall into his command chair in relief, Archer kept his shoulders taut. "Reverse course, Travis, and—"

"Captain!" Malcolm interrupted from behind with a tone of steel disquietude. As Archer glanced backward, the tactical chief continued. "Sir," he added, his voice lowering, "the destruction wasn't complete. The Orions will be able to recover…biological remains."

_Sometimes, I'd rather simply fight the Orions, _Archer thought grimly as a wave of discomfort beset him. They may have been augmented, but the crew of the Bird-of-Prey were still human…_we do what has to be done. _Archer repeated the mantra, once, twice, three times, feeling the eyes of Malcolm watching him the entire time.

"Fire," Archer ordered gruffly. He forced himself to watch as a single torpedo shot outward, plowing into the wreckage, and exploded with an irradiating bloom.

…

_{June 8, 2154}_

Porthos awoke a split second before Archer, startling the captain awake. "Medical alert!" The comm system blared. "Deck E-14!"

_Deck E-14, _Archer repeated in his mind, the cobwebs washing away in a torrent of adrenaline. E-14 was Arik Soong.

_Shit. _The curse leapt, unbidden, to Archer's mind as he staggered from his quarters, not bothering to toss on a robe for decency as he stumbled into the corridor. The running lights were dimmed for the night-shift hours, but he had little need for them; practice and experience guided the captain through the corridors of E-deck, on his way to—

Scarcely aware of it, Archer flattened himself into an alcove as a pair of medical technicians barreled past, guiding between them a hovering biobed that maintained uncanny balance despite its slalom-like trajectory. There was a body lying on it; he could only guess, only assume, that it was Soong who lay prone.

And Phlox, barking out orders, sat straddled across the patient, hands flying with surgical gear in untraceable speeds.

…

_{June 10, 2154}_

"Doctor, I've prepared the final investigative report."

Phlox's head moved up sharply in surprise, his thoughts recalled from some distant point of contemplation. What that point was, he did not know; but he had lost a patient, scarcely even had a chance to get his hands warm before Arik Soong had breathed his last. And with little else to do in the intervening days, Phlox had taken his time on the autopsy.

But now, he struggled to focus on work.

"Thank you, Commander," Phlox replied belatedly. His voice cracked slightly from the tenderness of unused vocal chords; the verbose Denobulan had been unusually silent, much like the artificial silence that seemed to hang heavy over the entire starship. There was none of the usual elation of returning home; none of the excitement or pride of a mission completed, none of the joy at returning to loved ones. The sense of despondency seemed to inflict every person on board, even casting a certain pall over Phlox's sickbay menagerie.

"What's the final verdict, Commander?" Phlox asked, and he shook his head in weariness; his hibernation cycle was still months away, but his cells were burdened with the heavy weight of ennui, the laggard listlessness of dejection.

"We combed Soong's quarters again," Malcolm replied. He stood in the doorway, apparently unwilling to enter. "We found no evidence of another person being in the room. Between that, and the lack of external marks on the body…I'm filing it as 'suspected suicide,' Doctor."

Drooping his eyes, Phlox nodded slowly. The verdict was expected, yet it still stung. "Is there anything else, Commander?"

"Yes." Malcolm hesitated, as if in discomfort, before continuing. "I noticed in your mission report that you said…you'd seen the full Augment genome." Malcolm paused to lick his lips. "I took that out. Just some…friendly advice, Doctor, but I wouldn't let anyone know that you saw that genome."

Without another word, Malcolm turned and departed.

…

_The starfield seemed unusually dark today._

_There were few places of silence on a starship. True quiet, true solitude, rarely existed. Beyond the sound of the ship itself, the nearly organic murmur of the engines, the hum of energy conduits and the soft tweets and blaring whistles that sang in abject harmony, beyond the sensation—less a sound, and more a sensation—of the vibrations of the universe itself, so close and yet so far beyond reach, there were the people._

_The constant movement. The deluge of voices, sometimes agreeable, sometimes strident. The highs and the lows of human emotion, the torrents of feeling, the palpable waves of hope and despair. It was inescapable._

_Every so often, once in a cosmic eclipse, Jonathan Archer had to escape it all; get away from the responsibility, the burden, the expectations, the never-ending need to carry the crew and fulfill their mission, the demands of duty and honor and all things good and proper._

_Deep in the recesses of the ship, accessible only by a slim chute descending from above, was a little nook at the aft end of deck F. Several meters behind the launch bay doors, it was a slender bubble, scarcely noticeable in anything but the closest of inspections; it was an afterthought, a late addition in drydock, that resembled nothing more than a tiny, transparent bubble on the ass of the starship._

_But down here—in the rear observation deck—Jonathan Archer could escape the ship. Above him, if he cared to look, he could see the belly of the Enterprise; the launch bay doors stretching out, before giving way to the gentle curve of the lower saucer. _

_But he cared not to look that way. Instead, he sat and stared aft, underneath the sensor pod and beyond. Encased within the transparent globe, it gave him the sensation of sitting in space._

_The view usually improved his mood. But today…the starfield seemed unusually dark today. Cold, silent, foreboding; a sense of danger overriding the beckoning call of adventure. The little alcove was warm, heated fully by the starship, but he felt as though the frozen stillness permeated within, casting icicles in his blood and permafrost in his chest._

"_Captain? Are you in there?"_

_Archer groaned, but reproached himself silently; he trusted the voice, the discretion of its master. If there was anyone on the ship who valued privacy, it was Malcolm; and the stand-in first officer would not be bothering the captain without reason._

"_Yes, Malcolm?" Archer answered, tilting his head back to look overhead. Malcolm's face hovered above, looking down the chute from the deck above; framed by darkness, lit by the faint, eerie glow of natural starlight diminished in the despondency of endless cold._

"_I have the final investigative report on Doctor Soong's death, sir." He lowered a data padd into the chute, expecting the captain to take it._

_Archer waved it off. "Just summarize it for me, Malcolm."_

"_Yes, sir…cause of death was poisoning by hydrocyanic acid. No hypospray or needle marks were found, indicating that the poison was ingested. No physical trauma was present, and no indication that anyone else was present. Manner of death is being reported as 'suspected suicide.'"_

_Archer barely stirred at the words. "Why 'suspected'?" he asked, his thoughts processing the information slowly._

_Malcolm seemed to shake his head. "We can't explain how Soong would have gotten his hands on the pill," he answered. "We double-checked everything: he had no equipment to synthesize it, and when Soong was brought back onboard, we did a comprehensive scan of him. There was nothing secreted on—or in—his body."_

_Archer let his head roll backward sluggishly. "So…"_

"_There is no evidence of a second party being involved," Malcolm added. "And the only way to manufacture the poison is Phlox's pharmaceutical synthesizer. I checked it myself—no raw material is missing."_

"_So what we have is a mystery," Archer replied slowly. On another day—any other day—it would have tantalized him, demanded answers, invigorated him with a new wind._

_But today, he found that he no longer cared._

"_Thank you, Malcolm," the captain answered, and one last thought struck him. "You said something about a cost for borrowing the Black Prince—"_

"_I already took care of it, sir," Malcolm affirmed._

_Archer nodded. "Good work, Malcolm."_

"_Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?"_

"_Yes, thank you, Malcolm. You're dismissed."_

_Archer returned his focus to the emptiness of frozen space._

…

As Malcolm turned to leave, the words of his mentor ran through his mind.

_Malcolm, it takes exceptional people to do what we do. People who can sublimate their own interests to the best interests of Earth. We deal with threats to Earth that jeopardize its very survival. If you knew how many lives we've saved, I think you'd agree that the ends do justify the means. I'm not afraid of bending the rules every once in a while if the situation warrants it, and I don't think you are either._

_What, do you really think these—augments—are capable of conquering all of humanity? Of course not, Malcolm. Twenty augments against the world? The real danger is this: that baseline humans will follow the augments of their own free will. Humanity never changes: stir up a little threat, tell people that their way of life is in danger, and a quarter of Earth will immediately flock to the augments for protection and salvation. And Soong understands that._

_Humanity itself is the greatest danger, Malcolm. Not the Klingons, not the Orions, not the Vulcans or Andorians, and definitely not the augments.  
_

_You know I'm right._

As he departed down the corridor, Malcolm's shoulders hung heavy with the weight of shattered wings.

_-finis-_

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_Author's note: Yes, this story ends on a negative tone, and I hesitate to leave it there. However, as readers and viewers, we know that the Harris-Reed-Archer triangle concludes with Malcolm choosing Archer's developing __new-world __ideals over Harris' old-world cynicism. Harris may claim that he's "right," but Malcolm does ultimately reject that._


End file.
